


Threats and Games

by MoonandWinter



Series: Worlds apart [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, PTSD, Post TWS, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, and recovery, anger issues, companion story to She's got bite, damaged Bucky, strong female
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 45,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonandWinter/pseuds/MoonandWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky struggles in the wake of his release from Hydra. He vows to find his memories, with the help of Sasha. A woman whose anger and pain matches his. </p><p> [Bucky/OC]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mourners

This was the way she was going to go out. How she was finally going to die. Of course, she could never have predicted it would be by a cold metal hand attached to a cold eyed man slowly squeezing the life from her. It was too slow. Sasha wished he’d make it quick because she really didn't think her heart or body was capable of more pain.

But of course, for  _him_ , there was always room for just a little bit more.

She met his eyes with a sad kind of love and stared into his old and empty icy blues. There was nothing in there. No recognition. No James. No hope.

And then blackness. Death was quiet. Death didn’t care.

_*some weeks earlier*_

Clouds rumbled loudly overhead the gathering. Their black attire in stark contrast with the polished white marble structure. Faceless people and silent tears floated in front and around the lone sitting figure. These mourners did not notice her, nor she them.

She only cared for one name. One face. And he was there, inside the stone prison that will be his final resting place. He didn't get a ceremony. He was simply chalked up as collateral and tossed in here with the rest of the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s employees who lost their lives.

She had thought S.H.E.I.L.D was supposed to be the good guys; had been told that the building that was supposed to be the safest place. Not for Mark. Not for any of these bodies who lay cold and broken and gone.

Sasha sighed heavily, kneading the tense muscles in her neck. She knew if she thought about it for too long, she would work herself up to a righteous rage that would not only be embarrassing, but also end in the eventual emotional breakdown. So instead she took several long and deep breaths. Meditation was supposed to help with her... overacting emotions, though if she were honest with herself she’d probably call it anger management. It was something her adoptive brother, Mark, had helped her with.

She stood slowly, feeling the tightness in the muscles throughout her tired body. Maybe she'd run to the gym and beg Boney to find her a sparring partner. Kickboxing was also a great release and she found she liked it more than meditation. Something likely to do with the aggression she exerted.

With stiff shoulders and a heavy heart, Sasha silently wove her way through the throng of dark and mournful people. Her worn shoes did not make a single sound on the hollow stone floors.

She paused just inside the grand doors to watch the rain fall in bitter sheets, pummeling umbrellas and black cars. She thought it looked like weather that matched the hearts of those gathered here.

Just before she stepped out and back into the fray she felt it. The tingle that ran up her spine. The tightness in her chest and buzz ringing in her ear.

There was someone was watching her. Sasha felt it in her very bones. They were not merely glancing at her. No, whoever had their eyes trained on her was watching intently. She clenched her jaw, hating the way her body automatically tensed for battle. She should be used to the starring.

The rain made everything grey and fuzzy, masking the onlooker from her own vision. She flipped up her hood and dashed down the steps, angry at the coward who had gotten under her skin by watching. Angry at herself for letting them get to her.

And most of all, angry that the people who were supposed to protect her only family had failed.

Mark had once told her that bottling up all her anger and pain would only cause her to explode in violence. She knew he was right, so she did now what she had done so many times before.

She jogged her way to the gym, rain be damned, with the intention of exploding.

His head hurt. It relentlessly stung in sharp stabs, making him flinch.

But he had a mission. A target. A plan. After weeks of hiding; of narrowly avoiding the man from the bridge, he had found a woman. She would help him. That was her job.

He watched through the rain, his stolen jacket soaked through to his hidden vest. The armor of who he was. But the soldier felt nothing…

No, he did feel. Pain? Panic? Too much.

He closed his eyes for a moment. His head... Fuck it hurt. Sharp like his knives.

That strange man; the Captain did this. Had him remembering things. Clips. Pieces of someone else.

The soldier knew that man from somewhere. Instinct made him flee. Some internal programming said his cover was blown. But that wasn’t quite right.

So he hid instead, stealing nourishment and disguised himself as a civilian. These concrete streets were easy to disappear in.

More sharp pain. Bright and stinging, right behind his eyes.

Why did he stay? He had no orders. No handlers or missions.

That's right...

He had a mission.

To find his memory. To find out who the man on the bridge was.

To figure out who the hell is Bucky.

His head hurt...

 


	2. Sasha

_Keep your head down. Fists up. Give it a right hook. Spin with a high kick. Don’t forget to dodge. End it with an upper cut._

She let her heart hurt as she let the rage bubble to the surface as she attacked the bag. Boney couldn’t find a partner who wanted to spar on a good day. Most men did not like getting their asses handed to them by a woman.

It only fueled her fire. She felt her knuckles begin to throb and she threw her weight into it, determined to make the hurt go away. The full force of her frame slammed into the well-used boxing bag. When it swung back to her, she used her muscular leg to knock it back. The violence was exhilarating and she wanted to do damage.

Everyone had gone home for the night and she knew she should too. Boney slept in a crappy apartment above the small gym, his lights already turned off. He told her to lock up when she had finished, just like always. He knew exactly what she needed.

Sasha had been just a child when she met Boney. He was in his fifty’s then; short and stocky. Full of life. Their first meeting had literally shaped her life.

She had been running for blocks after throwing a brick at this dick teen for making fun of Mark. The older boy and his friends found her and was about to beat the living hell out of her. As a child, she feared them; feared everything. She had run and run until her legs burned and her chest hurt.

And just when she was about to give up, Boney was there. He pulled her behind him and faced off with the boys. He used his words at first but the boy she’d hit was out for blood and that’s exactly what Boney gave him. A big fat bloody nose.

After that, he sort of adopted her and Mark. He taught her how to fight. Raised them like no other person had wanted to. He had been a champ underground boxer. Never made it big but that’s not so unheard of around here. For 16 years, he showed her how to box and how to kick but most importantly, he showed her how important compassion was. For graduating high-school (which was a big achievement) he even hired a martial arts instructor who designed a style just for her.

Boney got the best wheelchair for Mark, even helping him with physical therapy that was too expensive. She never knew why the old man had taken in two screwed up foster kids, but she was thankful he had.

She used the training now, swinging her thick legs and using her arms only when needed. While other women were soft and beautiful, Sasha could only describe herself as rough and hard. She had muscles instead of soft skin and she sometimes hated it.

She simply felt too different.

Sighing heavily, she cut the bag lose. She had to sleep sometime though lately, sleep evaded her like she did with people. Sasha knew actual slumber was not likely.

Her dreams were full of burning buildings and falling bodies. In the beginning, the news stations reflected these nightmares. Big red letter that flashed across the screen. S.H.E.I.L.D. headquarters being attacked. Massive deaths.

Sasha had known immediately. Mark was gone.

“Jesus.” She groaned when she saw the time. Thankfully she didn’t need to be at work for the rest of the week but she really hated walking home when the unsavory characters were meandering about. Even with her training, she knew if there were more than three, she’d never be able to properly defend herself.

She didn’t even bother changing, instead throwing on the Black overcoat that she had worn earlier that day. Underneath was her usual grey sweats and a thin but strong black V-neck. Checking her duffle bag, she pulled out her shiny pistol. A gift from Mark. She tucked it neatly into her holster that wrapped around her waist.

 _Never let it be said that a girl from the Hell’s Kitchen couldn’t protect herself,_ she thought dryly.

Sasha glanced out the front door, looking down the darkened street. Off in the distance was the constant sounds of dogs, trains, and a police siren. It was the constant chorus of her city.

She locked the gyms heavy metal door, never taking her eyes off the streets. She felt her body relax with the weight of the gun pressed readily against her lower back though she hoped never to use it. She just refused to let fear rule her life.

Her careful steps made no sounds as she tried to stay in the street lights. Her feet took her further away from Boney’s and closer to her new place. She didn’t live too far, but it was long enough that she couldn’t let her mind wander.

She  _had_  shared an apartment with Mark. His rooms had been an S.H.E.I.L.D. issued perk but when the whole place got fucked, so did her living quarters. Not that she minded moving out. It didn’t feel right living there, expecting Mark to roll right through the door, but knowing he never would.

Sasha was now staying at Stark’s apartments. Ironman had bought and renovated them after the alien attack ( _which she refused to think about_ ) a few years back for the people out of house. Now with good S.H.E.I.L.D. agents and their families in the same boat, he had opened them up once again. She hated living off this man’s generosity but until she figured out what to do…with everything, she’d have to suck it up and take the room offered.

Her work was close too. She had been deemed smart enough to be a cleaning lady at Stark towers, cleaning the bathrooms and some offices in the lower tech levels. Though she was loath to admit it, Stark was a damn good employer and while Sasha didn’t mind the work, she never actually saw him or any of the other Hero’s.

She was jaded in her instinct to dislike anyone who thought they were better. She knew that and she was working through her anger. But these hero’s seemed to do a lot more damage lately.

This was her last thought before the lights went out. Her knees buckled and she felt the sting of metal against her temple.

Maybe she had let her mind wander after all…

Chapter Management


	3. The Soldier

He watched from the shadows. It was an instinct drilled into him by his former affiliations. He was hollow except for these things. Knowledge about how to kill, how to hide. He knew to follow her from the shadows with no sound. He was to never fully look at her least she sense his eyes. He knew to wait until her shoulders had relaxed and for her head drop forward slightly; a sign that she was no longer paying attention.

Instinct told him that now would be the optimal time to sneak up like a silent monster and run a blade across her slender neck, spilling crimson blood without a sound. He’d be gone before her body hit the refuse covered cement.

But he did not want to kill her. That was not his mission.

Instead, he crept forward, slinking unseen to any onlookers. The plates of his cybernetic hand shifted and all too quickly he’d stuck her. There was a dull thud, then her body falling into the shadows. He was quick. Efficient. Lethal.

As he pulled the lifeless woman into the shadows, the soldier sought out the next phase in the plan. But there was no real plan. He fought his way through the pain throbbing in his head. He had no headquarters. No command center. The soldier was quick to realize that he needed a safe house to take this woman and somehow convince her to help.

Within moments, he had a car hotwired and rumbling softly. It was a non-descript vehicle with up-to-date tabs. He did not know what those were, just that he would be less suspicious driving it. The knowledge to operate the vehicle came, unbidden and he felt his hands move as if detached from his body.

This ghosting had always been the way for the soldier, but now he felt the urge to question. Why could he not remember learning to do these things? The freeze?

Pain, sharp and vibrant started to bloom behind his eyes and he grimaced darkly. Don’t think about that right now. He had a mission.

He pulled the woman’s body into passenger’s side, lowering her seat. To anyone who bothered to look, she appeared to be resting soundly; a weary traveler in the old vehicle.

He drove blindly, a small panic building in his stomach. With it came the familiar ache of hunger and the heaviness of sleep settle upon his shoulders, but still he drove.  Out of the sick city and across bridges. He passed tolls with ease, and flew down highways. He drove until the car was nearly empty. 

He must have known then their final destination, after all. The car turned down off the highway and onto an old farmer’s road. Long weeds shot up through the earth flanking the dirt path. The sun was beginning to rise and he knew the woman was to wake soon.

A hidden memory danced behind his eyes, sharp like always. There was a road here, overgrown by years of neglect. The car forced its way through bushes and vines, the path no longer smooth.  Earth shot up in jagged shards, roots of trees pushing their way up and over the once flat entrance.

The road was rough and slow but after several meters of deep forestry, he saw the building. A rectangle of dense concrete and steel, one with a large metal frame shooting up from behind the small bunker-like structure. A radio tower?

One entrance. One barred window. Too far from the main road for noise to carry. No visible paths, meaning no persons come here. This and a dozen other bits of observations zoomed through his mind. He felt more like a damned machine than a man. Perhaps he was.

This thought… He didn’t like it. A new feeling.

The vehicle rumbled to a stop, barley able to traverse the untouched path. Parked and quiet, he lowered his head in his hands. Dark hair fell down obstructing the stinging sunlight.

He had been too long out of freeze. This world was all pain. All questions. The soldier thought about giving up, letting the man from the bridge put him back on ice. There was comfort there. Death would work as well.

But he could not do that. He needed answers.

A whisper of fabric and the hitch of breath alerted him. She was awake.

He did  _not_ want to hurt her further and this lack of action allowed her to move with surprising speed. She was quick, more agile than most. She twisted from the car, turning mid roll to stand with her arm raised, pistol pointing steadily at his heart. There had been seven distinct ways he could have stopped her. Five of them including killing her, the other two risked serious injury.

He clenched his jaw and stared back. Her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths. A bead of sweat trickled from her brow as her eyes darted around the small green clearing before falling back to him. Several more opportunities for him to disarm her. But he hadn’t.

Instead, he pointed to the building, hoping she would simply do as he commanded. It was a feeble hope. His fast movement jarred her into action.

The sound of her shot rang through the air. He felt it. Knew where the bullet entered his body, what caliber, and knew too that he’d suffered far worse.

The soldier didn't even flinch. He paused long enough to see the shock and panic register on her oval face, and then he moved. It took a monumental amount of will power to twist the weapon from her grip and throw it to the trees without so much as making skin contact. But he managed.

The woman blinked. Then looked down to her now empty hands. One would assume, being disarmed and clearly outmatched that she’d listen to his orders for fear of her life. There was no such luck.

He was surprised when she kicked his legs out from under him. His brain flipped and without thought he began to fend her off. The soldier kicked off the ground, mind fighting for control. He deflected her well placed hits, signaling past training, though it was rough and non-refined. Adjusting style became necessary when she began to use her lower extremities aggressively, high arching kicks coming too close. Smart woman. Too bad he was stronger and quicker.

He controlled the urge to strike. She was tiring quickly and although he was physically drained, his programming held fast. Her body shook as she danced back, both of them breathing heavily.

Finally after a long silence. She glared at him, her stance never changing from defensive.

He felt the impact of her gaze. This woman saw him. She did not lower her eyes. Did not cry in fear or tremble with panic. The damned woman looked at him defiantly.

There was a tightness in his chest.  Another new emotion. Appreciation? Respect?

Yes. Something like that.

But then she turned and with quick agility, leapt over the car and into the woods.  The direction obvious. The pistol.

He sighed darkly.

Easy wasn’t what he expected when planning this mission. But this… this was unexpected.


	4. Running

 

 

Shit fuck frack fuckity shit, Sasha chanted silently.

She's been kidnapped by a crazy silent crazy goddamn soldier. Earth crunched under foot as she searched frantically for her pistol. While she might have been busy fighting for her life, Sasha caught on to his moves. The way she couldn't get one hit on him, yea... He was definitely a man of war.

Right before she booked it, she had given him the death glare. The look she perfected as a waitress in some hole in the wall diner. But this nut-job? He just stared back. His eyes seemed empty and hallow, pale behind his dirty hair. That just did not bode well.

So she ran. Her ego had taken a hit but she really  _really_  does not want to die and get chopped up into a million pieces. 

She was sweeping the landscape as best she could, hoping to find her weapon. Where the hell was she anyway?  Woods? This was not central park. Not. At. All.

Panic swirled violently in her stomach making her wince. She needed to stop and get her bearings.

With the grace of royalty, Sasha slammed to the ground and covered her mouth with a shaking hand. She didn't hear him but that didn't mean he wasn’t near. With each second that passed, her heartbeat grew louder until she was positive he'd find her just from the sound.

Sasha tried to remember Boney and his calming words. Tried so hard to recall what she was supposed to do if she was ever abducted but her brain was fried thanks to the constant pounding from his earlier blow. God, she refused to die like this. 

Before she could formulate a plan a pair of black booted feet crashed down inches from her nose. The resulting yelp did nothing to help her ego issue.

A warm hand grasped her upper arm like a vice grip. She would try to fight; to struggle but their earlier tuff had proven her incapable of overpowering him. Her energy was spent. Not even adrenaline could save her now. 

With a satisfying sneer, she did make it harder for him, purposefully stumbling and dragging her feet. The freaking jerk didn't even notice. He pulled her with a seriously strong hold like he was a machine and she was a rag doll.

They finally rounded the clearing and it confirmed her suspicion that they were in some no-man’s land. She didn’t know how long she was out for but the sun was up so it must have been way too long.

He pulled her towards the grey building. Sasha hadn’t paid much attention to it before but now it was the pillar of her doom. Maybe he had torture devices set up in there. Creepy polaroids of other women.

Oh Fuck. No. Nope. She was just freaking herself out. It took all of her to keep from shaking.

By the way he was looking at the door though, it seemed he had never been here before. Like he was trying to figure out how to open it. 

Finally, he reached for the steel slab. She was grinning like a fool when she saw that whoever had left this place had also welded a large flat piece of metal over the entrance. Just as tall as the door and only a foot wide over the handle. There was no way they were getting in there.

But Mr. Commando reached out and…what the fuck? His hand... it gleamed in the sun like it was metal. But that couldn't be right...

And would you know it? Said metal hand curled its metal fingers around the steel panel and RIPPED IT OFF.

Now, Sasha was prepared for many things. Hell, she had even prepared for another freaky alien attack (which she still refused to think about). But never, EVER did she think she’d need to prepare for a man with a freaking robot hand! 

In her stunned silence, the robo-jerk yanked her into the darkness. Stale dusty air swirled around her, tiny specks illuminated by the strip of light from the door. She felt the chill here, the damp feeling of an unused space. The door shut behind her, plunging her world in darkness. A groan slipped out, her fear finally catching up.

There was a quiet rustle and shuffling, letting her know that the man was in the room. Within seconds, the overhead lights began to blink on, their buzzing noise filled the silence. Seriously, how old was this place? Straight out of the horror movies.

Maybe it was because she was drained. Or she could try and chalk it up to being mentally exhausted. Whatever the cause, Sasha found herself relieved to see a chair, a seriously old and dusty piece of junk, but comfy none the less. She plopped in it, crossed her arms across her chest and watched.

Her eyes never left him as he walked around the room. Broad shoulders hunched slightly as he inspected everything. Literally. Even under the table. He looked under and around and back and forth. She was really too tired to figure any of this out. 

She guessed the room was no bigger than 20 feet long and 30 feet wide, with what looked like (or really what she hoped) was a large bathroom tucked in the back.

The soldier man seemed more worried about the electronics but she doubted they could even send a signal with how old they were.

The thought jolted her. Her phone. Oh shit! As gingerly as she could, hoping not to call attention to herself, she reached for it. As a rule, she always kept her cell tucked into her bra. Easy to grab and no pick-pocket could snatch it.

Too bad  _he_ looked up just as she pulled it out.  _Not as smooth as you thought, Sash_ …

He marched over and held his hand out. She thought for a second to refuse him. After all, this was her last line of hope here, but the hallow look he gave her was enough to convince her. She slammed the phone into his outreached hand, noticing it was made of skin and bone. So one was normal, the other was not. Huh.

Finally the situation became clear. Either she was going to die quietly, or die talking. And her mufuddled brain thought talking was the way to go.

“So uh… You gonna kill me here?” She asked, her voice hoarse from disuse. She realized she could kill for a bottle of water right about now.

The dark man pocketed the device and looked at her. She was struck again by his empty gaze, though she could have sworn there was sadness there for a second. Trick of the light.

Instead of speaking, he shook his shaggy head, dark hair falling in front of his violently blue eyes. Now that the lights were on and she wasn’t running for her life, she could really observe him. His features were strong and solid. Handsome even. In a lets-hope-he-doesn’t-kill-me kind of way. More so he looked... haunted.

“Ok. So you’re not going to kill me here. That’s good. Cause you know,” she looked at him defiantly again, raising one brow. “I’d really hate to die. Not what I had planned for today.” Probably not the best time to become a comedian but whatever.

There. Right there she saw a teeny tiny lift from one side of his mouth. It could only be classified as an attempt to smile, but goddamn it, there it was. And then he looked confused, his dark brows came together as his eyes bore into hers. 

Sasha took a deep breath, realizing that she might be able to talk her way through this.

“Well… Um. I don’t know why you brought me here, but I’m cool with not dying. Just…Um. Can you tell me why?” she wanted to stand but the look of both fear and wariness that played across his face kept her grounded to the chair.

He took a few steps back, his eyes darting to the door. Oh hell no. He wasn’t about to up and leave. She'd be dammed if she was locked away like a criminal.

“Please?” She gasped. It was pathetic but she was seriously done with today. This guy had better have a damn good excuse for smashing her dome and dragging her to the country.

Later she would think back and wonder where she found the balls to talk to him like this. Later, she’d be happy she did.

She watched him as he waged an internal war. The battle clear on his face. Finally, he nodded, some emotion flashing in his eyes. One she couldn’t distinguish.

“I… do not know who I am.” He said so softly that she almost couldn’t hear him, though his voice was such a deep timbre that it sank into her bones. His eyes were lowered, his metal hand stretched out before him. 

Now, Sasha might be jaded, but she always saw the real thing. She’d seen men come home from war with that look. The look of a lost life, something they could never get back. He had shown signs of being a soldier before, but now she thought it might be something else.

“Is this a personality crisis? Or…” She edged, not wanting to push her limits. The man’s face was fighting between stony indifference and terror. 

The knee jerk reaction that got her into so much trouble had her heart aching.

“You don’t remember?” The words were pulled from her and she realized now that he wasn’t your run of the mill soldier. Not with the metal hand. Not with the moves and speed. No. He was specially trained. And by the way he was looking, tortured.


	5. Swaying

How many times has some stray looked at her with those same sad eyes? How many tears has she shed for all those lost souls who would freeze in the bitter winter and boil in the summer? He might as well be just another faceless bum. Someone who could be ignored by the masses.

Too bad a Sasha had a weak spot for the unfortunate. And unfortunate didn’t even begin to cover what she was thinking about this man. Lucky for him she never ignored the ones who were hurt. And he was clearly was injured.  Maybe not physically, but mentally.

"No memory, huh?" She mumbled into her hands. She had waited for him to expand but he seemed as reluctant as she to speak. Outside, through the small crack in the door, she heard the buzzing of insects and nothing else. Groaning in frustration, she eyed the dark man. "I'm no pro, but... you should see a psychologist or something."

The man merely knit his brows, the look making his rugged face look more child-like. Did he even know what a shrink was?

Peering at him from between her interlocked fingers was a little childish but she really couldn’t find a fuck to give.  Sasha was tired, hungry, and still pretty sure she was in a load of murderous trouble.

"Ok... so you brought me here to help. But what do you expect me to do? I'm no doctor." She huffed finally standing. She watched him tense out of the corner of her eye and her own body prepared for battle. She felt the surge of adrenaline course through her strained veins. But she knew it wouldn’t last. Not with being as worn-out as she was.

She paced the room, running her fingers along a long table with some seriously old equipment on it.  Everything was covered in thick dust and stingy cobwebs. She could sense his eyes on her, the same feeling from before. Just as the thought struck her, she turned to him.

"Have you been watching me?" She accused, hands on her hips. She had felt eyes on her in the mausoleum. He must have followed her to Boney’s. The thought made her cheeks hot with anger.

He didn't move. There was no sign that he had any intention of answering and the whole situation was starting to make her boil. Maybe it was time to see if she could leave. He said he wasn’t going to kill her, so maybe if she just walked out…

With all the confidence of Napoleon himself, she marched to the singular door. And of course, he was there in a flash, arms crossed and brows knit. Must he look so confused!?

"What am I supposed to do!?" She yelled, her deep voice echoed off the walls coming back to her in a violent gust. She just barely suppressed the urge to stomp her foot.

He huffed, his face twisting into pained confusion.

She was about to push past him, when she saw the red.

"I knew I hit you." She stated numbly. The grey fabric of his pullover sweater had been stained a deep crimson. Blood was drying, a small hole torn through the fabric an indication of why he was bleeding.

The soldier glanced down, a slight frown on his face. She hated this. The freaking puppy dog look. Not that he wasn’t emanating pure violence, it was just more that… She had shot him, and the damn man had the gall to look as if it were an everyday occurrence. Stupid heart strings.

She sighed, knowing she was going to regret this.

"Take off your shirt." Now, she really didn't think he'd do it. But he followed her order with surprising efficiency. She was only a few feet in front of him, but she could feel the change in his demeanor. He went from confused to soldier in zero point two flat.

The building was eerily silent as Sasha watched the man grip the bottom hem of his sweater and with one quick movement lift it completely up and off. She didn't think she could handle any more shocks today but surprise!

The metal which she thought was just his hand, seemed now to be his whole arm and shoulder. The plates overlapped in such a way as to allow maximum movement. She would have been seriously impressed if she wasn't distracted by other, more pressing discoveries. This mystery man just got a whole lot scarier in her book.  His whole outfit was black, a vest with crisscrossing straps that housed various weapons wound tightly against a snug torso. His human hand begun to unbutton and unsnap the top most layers while she, as unfazed as ever (not) stood stock still processing this information.

His eyes never left hers though, of that she was sure. She felt his empty gaze stare ahead as if this was not new to him.

The silence was the worst. He barely made a sound while her breathing sounded like a raspy animals dying. At least she thought so. 

He shrugged out of the black uniform, which she was sure it was, and finally looked down to inspect his wound. To avoid looking at the sinfully fit abdomen or the terrifying scarred flesh of his left shoulder, Sasha kept her eyes trained diligently on the red patch of torn flesh. Torn only because the stupid man was digging metal fingers in it.

"Oh fuck! Stop that!" She barked. Her hands grasped the cold metal in an attempt to pull his hand away. He instead tilted his and looked at her with those striking blue eyes. She saw now that they were not empty as she previously thought, instead they swirled with quiet emotions.

"You'll make it worse." She finished in a whisper, her hands still clasped around the crazy silver arm.

They both seemed to notice at the same time, his intake of breath, a sign that he was human somewhere under all that scary commando crap.

She pulled her shaking hands back and started to pace. Maybe it was the cold way he tried to dig out the bullet, or that his eyes shown with confused sadness over her concern. Something she didn't want to feel. Either way, she had a feeling that her whole life just got a little more messed up.

"Look man. I can tell something happened to you. I'm smart enough to see the signs. But you are going to have to help me here." She sighed and turned her back on him.  A trust she didn't take lightly. With weary and calloused hands, she rubbed her face.

A tiny ping sounded through the room. She knew what it was. The idiot fished out the bullet and dropped it on the table.  She didn't need to look to know that. 

"I do not want to hurt you. I only... I need your help." He spoke softly to her back but in the silence of the room he might add well have been yelling. 

"Ah, he speaks." She mumbled sarcastically. Surprised again when he continued to do so.

"I was not allowed to speak. And now I can."

She felt that statement in her bones. Felt the truth of it sink its vicious claws into her heart. Despite everything, all the trouble in her crazy fucked up life, she still had a heart. And right now, it was aching for this man. Stupid, stupid girl.

She looked over her shoulder to see him. To really look at this man who had kidnapped her and stole her away to nowhere, USA.

His dark hair fell across his face. Toned broad shoulders were hunched over as his head was lowered.  She couldn't see his eyes though the way he was holding out his bloody metal hand left little to the imagination.

"Why me?" She spoke with as much confidence as she could muster.  Already she felt the pull to help, to abandon any common sense. 

"You work in Stark towers. They will have the technology to... fix me." He didn't sound nearly as sure he should have though. His eyes were back to hers, blue orbs drilling into hers through a veil of dark hair. The shadows from the ancient lights making him look more menacing then necessary.

She had no idea what he thought she did at Stark industries but fixing the memory loss of a scary half steel soldier was not in her job rec.

"I clean. I don't do anything important. I'm not important." It was her only defense. She felt sluggish, sure she had more reasons for not helping him. It's just that she was so drained. So fed up and goddammit, she was still mourning her brother!

He simply nodded but said nothing more. Back to the silence. Figuring it was in her best interest to at least be cordial, she waved to his bloody chest.

"OK.  Alright. Is there running water here?  You're gonna have to clean that up." Though now that she thought about it, the pipes might very well be rusted through. This placed looked like it was from the 40's with the strange egg like chairs and huge bulky speakers that sat abandoned in the one corner.

Before she knew what was happening, she heard the metal slab that served as the door open and shut. Her heart squeezed as she thought he was leaving.  The thought scared her more than anything else had that day. She told herself it was because she had no idea where she was or how to get back. Definitely not because she had started to sympathized with him. Right.


	6. Headache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The soldier and the man fight for dominance.

 

 He was pacing.  The solider who had terrorized nations, toppled governments with well-placed bullets, and was a personal assassin to one of the biggest secret organizations to ever exist. And he was pacing, topless and bloody, because a woman (WHOM HE KIDNAPPED) was worried about his wound.

What's worse was that he was having flashes. A pretty face. A carnival. All images from a time far away. Not only did it confuse him more than usual, it started another round of hammering agony at the base of his skull. A pain that was shooting up and had dug between his eyes with vicious tenacity. 

He was weak. Pierce would be disappointed if he could see the soldier now. The man fell to his knees, both hands clutching his head. The pain was too much for him. A strange animal noise rent the air and only after its echo resounded did the soldier realize it was his own cry of pain.

Far off he heard a voice; a song that hummed softly in his ear.

But the ringing. Oh god, the deafening sting was pushing his head to the ground.

 And then he felt hands. Hands that belonged to the far-off humming.

They were pulling him. The soldier wanted to fight, felt the pull of instinct screaming at him to defend himself, but the man refused. He would not. The hands were soft though; insistent. The humming was growing louder but no less gentle.

He could sense the throb lessen. Perhaps if he just concentrated on the voice, on the nimble fingers that were pushing his hair back, he could find his control again.

It was the woman. He listened intently, not raising his head. The cold earth lay flush against his forehead and he realized his arms were shaking. Such weakness.

“Hey, shhhhh. Come on, bud.” She was cooing. Words he assumed were meant to be soothing, but to him it was the low vibrations of her husky voice that lulled his pain. He cleared his mind of the clips of faces from the past, instead pinpointing the woman. He felt each of her touches to his core. No one touched the soldier. Not like this.

“Let’s get you inside. Come on.” She muttered softly, her arm tucking around his waist. He would listen to her words. Do as she commanded if only to take the pain away. There was a part of him that knew the ache was more than the memories. He had slept in one hour increments. Had only eaten food scavenged. He could not remember drinking water.

He knew that Peirce had seen to his physical needs, but now the man was alone and ignorant of how to survive.

“Ok, help me out here.” She grunted under her breath and he could feel her face was mere inches from his. “You weigh, like, a ton. Probably from all that metal.” He did as she bade and concentrated his energy to his legs. The muscles were tense and unwilling to move but he forced through the stiffness to regain control. He gritted his teeth and with her help, lifted off the ground.

Overhead, storm clouds had formed, darkening the open clearing. He had thought rain may occur when he brought them here. The air was thick and sticky and he felt lighting was not too far off.

As they stumbled slowly to the door he had earlier accosted, he wondered why she had not used his moment of weakness to drive away and leave him bent and broken. This was not at all logical but he knew the weakness of human nature. He had used it against past enemies whose faces and stories were still obscured from his memory.

She was speaking again but the words sounded far off. He looked up to find her face staring straight ahead with the look of concentration. When they entered the cement building, she quickly deposited him in the chair she had been in minutes before. He watched with saddened eyes as she turned on a heal and ran back out the door.

He sighed, too weak to chase after her. The memory attacks always left him like this; useless and hurting. The simple fact that she pulled him inside and out of the oncoming storm was a kindness he hadn't expected. He let his upper half slump forward, his head falling heavily into his hands. He wanted the freeze, needed the black darkness that the icy sleep held.

But then there was a soft hand tugging his arm. The Woman surprised him again. She had come back, her voice once more breaking through the fog in his head. She was pushing his head back, her eyes full of worry and anger.

He wanted to speak. Wanted to remember how to interact, but this was not the time. The woman was begging him for something. Soft fingers pulled at the back of his neck making him realize he was more weak than previously thought. With painful effort, he pushed his head back and she quickly lifted a bottle to his lips.

The soldier thought about poisons and danger and he sluggishly calculated an escape, but the man inside the soldier knew it was simply water. 

He drank with her help, the cool liquid soothing the raw flesh of his throat. He would do well to remember to keep hydrated. He closed his eyes and let the sensations take over. She still spoke. Her words were clipped and mumbled, barely understood through the fog. He could only make out short phrases. “Stupid scary men.” And, “-can’t believe I’m so gullible.”

He wanted to smile. An urge he had yet to feel, but he knew he had once done it a lot. That knowledge was a simple truth. The fingers tightened slightly at the back of his neck then slid into his tangled hair, gently massaging his nape.

When the bottle was empty, and the pain was not nearly as bad, he peeled his eyes open. The woman's face was tense, her eyes focused on the scars, the part of his body where metal met skin in angry white lines. She should be terrified, disgusted, Or at the very least confused. Instead, her round face and large eyes seemed to twist with barely concealed anger. Her full lips, a mouth he had only discovered was full and pink, was twisted in a frustrated frown.

 “Who did this to you?” She demanded, her warm brown eyes never leaving his scarred flesh.

He did not want to speak, to not remember least the pain come back in full force. But if he had any hope of her helping him, he needed to tell her some truths.

“Hydra.” He stated, hating the way her eyes shot to his, her face clearly showing the recognition of the name. “Bad people.” He mumbled and lowered his eyes.

“They are responsible for my brother’s death.” She whispered softly, her free hand touched the very edge of his metal appendage. His eyes shot back to her in confusions. “And here they’ve done this… whatever this is to you. Are they the ones who…took away your memory?” She avoided his eyes and he wondered what she must think of him.

He nodded, feeling uncomfortable speaking still.

She sighed and removed both her hands from his body, the loss of their warmth made him feel empty. Now that was not an uncommon feeling, but none the less disturbing.

He watched as she paced for minutes, ending with her jumping up and sitting cross-legged on the table parallel to the wall. She was directly in front of him, only four feet away. He did not know why, but the thought comforted him. Finally, she lifted her head, resolve clear on her face.

“I’ll try to help you.” She announced, the effort to keep her anger out of her voice clear. “ _Only_  because those Hydra fuckers killed my only family. And that… whatever they did to you… was not ok. I’ll help.”

He nodded, his head spinning with relief. The more he was around this woman, the more emotions he experienced. He did not know yet if he liked it or not.

“Alright then.” She grumbled, arms folded defensively across her chest. He could see that she wasn’t happy about this. And why should she be. 

“Um… Do you have a name? Can you remember something like that?”

He had been called many things. The Winter Soldier being his preferred name by the Hydra agents and Peirce. But he did not want to be that soldier, did not want the association. The man from the bridge; the one who claimed to know him, had called him something else.

He had known the man’s name. He had said it with surety. So that was what he would be called. He would be the man, not the soldier.

“Bucky.”


	7. Talk it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tasha examines her choices.

Sasha tried to ignore the body that had curled in on itself. She really  _really_  tried to shut out the agonizing noise that came from him. He was muttering gibberish that sounded suspiciously like Russian and though she saw the car, knew that she could hop right in and be gone before he realized it, she simply couldn't ignore the painful sight.

She had assumed he was mentally damaged before, but now she was really hit with the full force of his pain. And goddammit, his pitiful voice hurt her heart; made her think of Mark. Her brother, her best friend, had been in a wheelchair his whole life. It’s one of the reasons he was never adopted. Nobody wanted a defected kid like him or a mixed one like her. She remembered their childhood together, only each other to depend on. There were too many times she had walked in on him wailing, the same fucking look of anguish twisting his face and body that the soldier was displaying now in front of her.

If she had helped Mark with the physical and mental pain, she could damn well try and help this broken, bloody man. She huffed and grumbled but managed to hull his heavy ass back into the makeshift abode right as the rain started to pelt the earth.

Now after her stupid change of heart from escapee to little miss nurse, she sat facing the dark stranger, sipping the second bottle of water she had packed the day before. Sasha had discovered her duffel bag stashed inside the car after realizing how weak he was. Dehydration was the last of their worries at this point. He looked like he needed food, sleep, and maybe some stitches.

But... now looking at the wound she could see it wasn’t nearly as raw. In fact... it looked like it was smaller. She sat forward, her confusion over exactly what this man was seemed to be written all over her face.

He noticed her train of thought and glanced down. 

"I think I heal." He stated numbly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"Umm, Ok Bucky..." She jumped a little when his eyes shot to hers. The intensity of his gaze making her look away to the open door. Rain had started turning the greenery into a grey mist. It smelled nice though; fresh, like clean earth and leaves. It was a scent she wasn't used to in the city. "I guess we'll have to camp out here for the night.  I have a few bottles of water in my duffle bag. Oh, and I think I've got a couple granola!"

She jumped down clumsily, still aware of his piercing eyes. He was probably questioning her sanity.

Sasha knelt down and rummaged through her bag. Being the busy woman she was, she often found herself forgetting to eat or drink water throughout the day so Boney made her keep a supply in with her workout gear.

Was this really what her life has come down to? She was alienated by everyone because of her… complexity. And now she was volunteering (if one could call it that) to help a man who clearly has some massive issues. Her only family, the only person aside from Boney to ever care for her was long gone.

She tried to chalk it up to being lonely. Wanting company so bad that she’d take a kidnapper just to not feel as if her life was over the minute Mark died. She had fought so many stupid battles, all of them resulting in a very strict but lonesome routine. No friends. No lovers. Not even a fucking pen pal.

But then, there was Bucky. He needed her help and even if she examined the reasoning’s a little more she was sure there were some serious issues on her own side, she felt the pull to help him. If what he said and alluded to was true, he might have a family out there looking for him. Friends who were worried. The very idea made her resolve harden.

She tossed him a bar and bottle, watched as he caught them with ease. His face twisted at the packed oat snack.

 _God, it was like he was a cave-man or something._  She walked over and snatched it from his metal hand, her fingers brushed to cold steel, causing a shiver to run up her spine. She used her teeth to tear it, as she did every time, but for some reason his eyes lingered on her mouth even as she held out the bar.

She smiled crookedly at the way his eyes darted quickly to the snack. He did everything with such innocence, which was strange considering the power she knew was lying just below the surface.

They ate in silence, Sasha taking her time, savoring the only food she was likely to eat that day, while Bucky nearly swallowed the bar whole. Her tired mind demanded sleep but she knew they’d need at least a better arrangement.

“Ok. So here’s what I’m thinking.” She paused, waiting for his full attention. His blue eyes watched her intently as she jumped back up on the table and laid flat, pinching the duffle bag under her head. She was talking to the ceiling. It made what she was about to suggest seem less crazy if she wasn’t looking at him. At least, that’s what she told herself.

“I think tomorrow after this storm blows over, we head back to New York. I’ve got an apartment stocked with food and running water. I’ll go into work like normal, but ask around. Discreetly. You’ll have to give me info on what to look for though, cause like I said. I’m not a doctor.”

There was silence. She didn’t want to look at him. Really, he was just too… dangerous.

“Look, I know you don’t trust me. I get that. I don’t trust you a hundred percent either, but you asked for my help and I will but those are my conditions. I won’t stay in this… I don’t even know what this building is.”

“It’s an army radio tower.” He spoke softly. She was getting used to it, the way he kept his voice lowered.

“Why here?” She asked grumpily, her eye lids too heavy to open now. The sounds of the rain and wind were lulling her weary brain to sleep.

“I think I used to come here.” He replied, an indiscernible emotion in his voice making her glance to him. His face was far away, as if he was back in time.

“All right, Buck. That’s enough talking. I think I’m too tired to pay attention any way.” She slurred the words, barely catching the way his head tilted at her. Almost in amusement.

“S’ok if you sleep too. It’d prolly help with the headaches.” She hummed, already half gone.

And he did. For the first time in weeks, Bucky let himself fall into the darkness of complete sleep.


	8. Dancing in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to wash away your worries.

Sasha hated dreaming. She hadn't had this one in a while, though it had plagued her as a child. She was standing on some sort of crack in the earth. She was never really sure where she was, but she knew each foot lay on the opposite side of the fissure. If she tried to wake up, the crack would move apart, opening to a terrifying emptiness. She would be pulled in two. Eventually when she couldn't stretch any further, she’d fall into... nothing. She woke up every time with a start, a jerk of her body so violent she sometimes hit the floor.

This morning was a little different. Her body jerked, her arms flailed but instead of hitting the cold hard cement she found herself in the arms of a kneeling stranger, her body mere inches from the ground.

Slowly she came to. Her heart still thrummed a fierce tattoo and her hands were still shaking but her mind was clearing of the sleepy fog.

The kneeling man, Bucky... His eyes were bright in the dimmed overhead bulbs, though clearly he had been asleep.

"I heard you. Then you fell." He whispered in way of explanation. His metal hand was tucked under her arm and his human one under her legs. It was eerily intimate. 

"Just a nightmare, Bucky. You can... um... let me down." She whispered, her voice shaking from terror and… something else.

He looked down at his arms as if now only realizing he was still holding her. She could have sworn, would have bet money on it, that his grip tightened just a fraction but then she was up on the table, her legs dangling off the edge.  He was so fast that before she could blink he was across the room and standing rigid at the door.

She could hear the rain still, not a very good sign if they wanted to leave this place. But then again, driving in the rain during the day wasn't so bad. Sasha ran a hand along her side where his metal appendage had held her. She had expected it to be cold and hard but it was strange. Like, a part of him that was not flesh but her mind couldn't tell the difference.

She rubbed her eyes, hoping to dispel that fucked up line of thought. She really needed to start making friends. If only she didn’t have such a stupid stubborn temper. She looked down at herself; her clothes were covered in the dust that had covered her makeshift bed/ table. She sighed inspecting her skin. The strange complexion, both black and white and who knows what else, made it easy for her to see all her flaws, every scar she earned though now all she saw was sweat, gooped up with dust. She looked absolutely disgusting.

She glanced to the door, her soldier still standing stiff, his hands clenched at this side. She wondered briefly if she hurt his feelings, but then he would have to remember how to feel.

Gah! This was so messed up. Sasha jumped off the creaking table and padded lightly over to him. She watched as, if even possible, his muscles pulled tighter. She used a seemingly dirt free hand to wipe the long sticky hairs from her eyes.

She stood next to him, her eyes watching the rain fall in fat drops into puddles that had formed. The midsummer heat chased away the chill that would normally accompany such a storm. For that she was thankful.

“Thank you.” She offered, her arms tucked around her waist. She felt a little conscious now of his inner turmoil and she absolutely refused to make it worse. “For, you know, catching me. I should have known not to sleep on the table.” She chuckled softly. Of course she hadn’t had that particular dream in months.

She didn’t look at him, but she sensed his body relax. What was he thinking inside that shaggy head of his?

“Oh!” She squeaked. She felt him jump beside her, his body ready for battle.

At the sight of it, she started to laugh. Oh, he was always so prepared. “No! Oh, no. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” She chuckled softly as she marched over to her bag. Inside was shampoo and soap. Little to-go bottles she kept for the showers at Boney’s. She held them up to show him, her genuine smile likely freaking him out by the look of utter confusion that was plastered to his rugged face.

“It’s raining! And I’ve got SHAMPOO!” She hollered happily, the idea of washing the dried sweat from her scalp making her more cheery than necessary. But with hair like hers, thick and plentiful, she needed to wash it every day and it’s been nearly three days without a cleaning.

She thought of nothing else as she lifted her tank off, leaving her black sports bra exposed. Sasha expertly kicked her sneakers and socks off using only the opposite foot, as she made her way to the open door. Waltzing past his stunned figure and out into the rain, she nearly sang with pleasure. Oh it was sinfully warm. The fat drops quickly drenched her body and hair. She wanted to dance, to open her arms and spin around.

Not many people can understand the joy Sasha took in being clean. For most of her life she had been dirty. Both literally and figuratively. Her foster parents never cared much for cleanliness and she had made sure to keep Mark and the younger kids clean, rather than herself. But as an adult she positively reveled in having hot water. Soap was a jewel and shampoo? Oh god, she had bottles and bottles of it. She hoarded it like there was no tomorrow.

It’s such a simple thing, to wash the dirt from her body, but Sasha loved it. Loved feeling fresh, as if nothing in the world would look at her negatively. And that’s how she felt now, her face lifted up to the rumbling sky, completely unaware of the blue eyes that never left her figure.

She washed her hair with vigor, the foam harder to rinse out in the random, unconsecrated drops. But she managed it none-the-less. Her fingers grazed a sore spot, just behind the hairline on the left of her head, likely the spot where Bucky konked her. She’d have to make sure to get one in for revenge.

 Finally, after nearly half an hour, she realized Bucky had stepped into the rain, though he kept close to the door. His human hand was raised slightly, open palmed to the drops. The childlike curiosity struck her again. He was dangerous, but he was so… Innocent?  It was a very confusing mixture.

She walked over to him, her bare feet splashing the muddy puddles happily. She grabbed his hand, half expecting him to pull away. Instead he came with her willingly. Lighting lit the sky and thunder rumbled off in the distance.

Water came down with unrelenting waves. It was only moments before he was soaked, his torso naked and rivets of dried blood washed away to revel puckered skin where yesterday there was a gaping hole. She shook her head softly, wondering not for the last time, what this man was.

His face was upturned, those striking blue eyes closed against the pelting rain. There was no expression on his face, but she could tell that he was processing all the new sensations. The understanding made her smile.

“How about you give your hair a wash?” She yelled over the roar of water. She realized now that she was still holding his hand, but made no move to remove it.

Without looking down, he replied, “I don’t know how.”

It was the first time she had heard him raise his voice, and she had to admit… It wasn’t bad. Finally, she pulled her hand from his. The action causing him to look down with brows scrunched together. She was too busy pouring a generous amount of floral shampoo into her hand to see the look of loss that crossed his face.

After a moment of convincing him, he finally bent over awkwardly; like a person bowing to royalty. She smiled softly as he grumbled something in a foreign language. She was positive it was Russian this time.

Sasha ran her long graceful fingers through his black hair, working the foam in. There were a few tangles and she was pretty sure that some knots were the result of caked blood, judging by the copper flakes that washed away. Even though the thought should scare her, it merely made her angry. Someone had tried to hurt this man, clearly had succeeded in taking away his memory.

Perhaps it was the way his shoulders relaxed, or how his head leaned into her hands. Whatever the reason, she found her fingers weaving and messaging even after the soap had run clear. The tips of her fingers grazed the skin at the back of his neck, and she watched in wonder as his muscles rippled down his spine.

She bit her lip and refused to examine any of this, instead quickly removing her fingers.

“Come on. I’ve got a clean towel.” She called over her retreating shoulder, her voice thicker than before. He stood slowly, his eyes focusing intently on her feet. Damn it, she made him uncomfortable. He wouldn’t be the only one.

They dried off in silence, Sasha quickly tossing on her spare jeans while his back was turned. Her back was only packed for her and thankfully she kept a few spare clothes in there. She didn’t have anything for him other than her oversized Zeppelin shirt. She tossed it to him, hoping he didn’t mind.

And holy shit… He put it on and it was almost as sinful as him being shirtless. The oversized shirt on her was like snug, tight,  _holy hell those muscles_ , well stitched glove. She coughed in her hand to cover the annoyed (at her own reaction) groan. His hair, now drying, was becoming a nuisance. She watched as he batted it out of his several times before she tossed him one of her hair ties. He mimicked her moves, raising his arms to tie his top most hair back. Damn it, she wanted him to look less attractive. (Seriously. It’s not fair)

 _But at least,_  she willed herself to believe,  _he didn’t look as intimidating._

The silence that was once oppressive was now companionable. She packed her bag, tossing in his strange leather strappy vest thing. Really, she had no idea what it did, but it had looked pretty badass and she didn’t want to just leave it here.

After a few moments, his eyes never leaving her, she tossed the heavy bag over her shoulder and looked at him pointedly.

“You drove us here. You’ll have to take us back.” She announced calmly, aware that they had made no real agreement about leaving this place.

He stared at her, his arms crossed over his chest, mimicking her stance. She sighed, realizing now that he still didn’t trust her. But she was a fast learner and he seemed to crave human contact.

She held out her hand, an offer of some sort of strange, really messed up friendship, and held her breath.


	9. Trusting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky puts his trust in her.

The woman thought he didn't trust her but the truth was completely the opposite. He didn't know how it happened, nor did he try to think about it but he found an unexplainable pull to this woman. She could have run, could have killed him in his sleep. Instead she stood before him, her shaking hand out stretched waiting for him.

The man could take it; follow her back into the city that he had destroyed. Even with the other man from the bridge on his trail, he knew he would follow her. The soldier inside of him instinctively fought hard against this unabashed trust. He felt such strange anxiety of it all churn in his stomach.

In the end, it was his hatred of the soldier, the other part of him, that made him take her trembling hand. He held on to her like she was the life line to his memory; his freedom. They stood many seconds, warm palms clasping tight, both absorbing the gesture for all of its meaning. He felt her pulse beat wildly through the thin skin and felt his own match the rhythm. He felt the tight sense of emotion pull at the edges of his brain and he held a little tighter.

There was a clap of thunder, jarring them both. Her fingers only gripped harder as she came to her senses. A small smile lifted a corner of her full mouth and he found he liked it much more than her other expressions. She tugged his hand and began dragging them both into the rain. Only when they reached the vehicle, did she let go.

Again he was struck by the loss. He attempted to ignore the thoughts until he could concentrate fully. At the current moment, the woman was asking if he knew the way back, if they could stop for food, and many other things. He took in all of her questions, seeing as she gave him little pause to speak.

Her deep voice was calming to him. He had, from the little he could fully remember, never been spoken to in any way other than as a soldier; an asset. Pierce would twist his words, making the Winter Soldier feel as if the bloodshed was for the good of the world, though he knew... He knew deep down in a part of him that the freeze or the pain couldn’t touch that he was simply a killer. But he could do nothing.

He had begun driving, his mind subconsciously knowing where to go. The hum of the engine filled the interior as he realized the woman had become silent. He glanced to her quickly and found her staring out the window. He could not see her face, but he could tell she was not happy. Maybe it was his silence?

He found he wanted to make her mouth lift again, just the one corner. But he did not know how or even why. The man sighed, frustrated with all these new feelings, the foreign sensations that she was bringing forth. How could he be expected to go on with his plan like this? What was worse was that he  _wanted_  to speak. He  _wanted_  to hear her voice, and learn what made her smile. He glanced quickly to her, seeing her brows creased and a small frown making her look upset.

“I don’t think I know how to talk.” He paused, noticing the way her body jumped as he spoke. His voice was low, barley loud enough to be heard over the engine, but she had jumped as if he yelled. He felt her warm gaze on him, but he kept his on the treacherous road as the rain was making the horizon undefinable.

“Yea, I figured as much.” She laughed softly, the tension fading from her voice. “I was just thinking… How am I supposed to sneak out information? Stark runs a pretty tight ship and I literally only have enough clearance to scrub the john.”

The man found himself relieved and for the absurd reason that it was not him who had made her unhappy. At least it was not him directly. He had a mission and even with the curious trust he felt for her, he did not know if she would still be so willing to help him if he admitted his whole plan.

Even the idea that  _he had_  made a plan was shocking. The soldier in him followed orders. He got the job done, killed who needed to be killed. He did not make the plans but merely followed them. But now... Now he had control over this one thing and he  _will_  follow through.

“I have an idea. It will work.” He stated with just enough finality that he hoped she understood. When she turned back to the window, he felt a small twist in his stomach. Her silence was uncomfortable. Why was this so hard?

“Will you tell me… a place to eat?” He asked, unsure of the situation. Again, she turned to him and waited several seconds before responding. Her gaze assessing and curious.

“Well..." She paused, her body once again relaxing, sensing there was no danger or trickery from him. "I don’t usually go for fast food but we can’t just waltz in a sit down with your shiny metal arm.” She replied, her voice tinted with laughter. He liked it very much.

“My arm… is very obvious.” he replied strangely. Fast food? Dancing?

“Oh, you know... It’s not  _that_  weird but that big red star? Now that is super obvious.” She laughed deeply. She pulled her full legs under herself and shifted slightly to face him. Even though the rain was clearing, he kept his eyes on the road. Watched carefully as the rain pelted the window, racing down in rivets. He tried to ignore her eyes but her scrutiny must be making him uncomfortable. There was no other explanation for his heart rate.

“The star?” he asked. His arm, a “gift” from the Red Room was not at all common. That much he knew. He tried to understand her words, but was left with more confusion.

“Relax, Bucky. It was a joke.” She chuckled. He glanced at her quickly to see if she was smiling. And sure enough, both corners of her mouth were raised and her warm brown eyes sparkled with something he could only describe as mischief.

He had no reply, though he felt the pull again. The strange feeling lifting the corner of his mouth unbeknownst to him. He knew it was not her joke that made him smile for the first time, but rather her own grin, her laughing eyes.

They drove in silence for several miles and he watched as she became progressively more annoyed at the lack of exit signs with restaurants on them. After another two miles, she finally huffed and crossed her arms.

“Well, Bucky. Looks like we can either eat McEvils non-meat burgers or we wait until we get back to my place. It looks like we are only an hour away.” The woman was clearly fighting an internal battle.

He remained silent, something he was beginning to realize was not the appropriate response. When Pierce had spoken to him, he was not expected to answer unless asked directly. Even then, the questions were of a more violent nature.

He did not want to remain silent but he couldn’t think of what to say. He was never given a choice. So he let her choose. She debated some, mumbled on about fake foods; finally telling him to take her home.

The sun, barely visible through the fading clouds, had finally begun to disappear, marking the sky with a cacophony of vibrant colors. The clouds ran like fingers from the horizon, painted pink and red. He had not noticed them before; the colors. The light. He swore then, he’d try to now that he was free.

The tall buildings grew from the earth, and as each passing mile shot further up into the sky. The closer they got the more noise he could hear. The traffic became thicker and the sky was no longer lit by the sunset but rather by street lights and windows. Big bright billboards shown down, flickering advertisements for things he did not understand.

It wasn’t like it was a new world to him, but it was bigger. More involved. He had so very few memories that he could call forth but some things he knew instinctively.

The deeper they got into the concrete world, the more tension he felt from the woman. Her hands clenched the edge of her seat, and she was looking around to the streets. He felt another knot in his stomach and after a few moments he realized why.

He pulled into an abandoned lot a block down from her apartment complex, knowing that the stolen vehicle would be found. The man braced himself and turned to the woman. Her eyes burned into his.

“You know where I live?” She hissed, her voice shaking slightly.

“I have followed you for two weeks.” He stated simply, feeling the knot grow as did her eyes. He looked down to his hands, open on his lap.

“Seriously?! I cant even- I always know when I’m being started at. How did I not know?” Her voice was raised and he worried about drawing attention.

“It is part of my skill set to go unnoticed.” He mumbled numbly, raising his eyes back to hers.

Maybe he should not have said that. A flash of fear danced in her gaze as she looked at him. Her body pulled back a fraction and he could visibly see the pulse jump in her neck. But then her eyes softened. He watched in amazement as her full lips frowned slightly as she rubbed her face.

“I figured as much.” She sighed. The anger that had boiled to the surface was gone without a trace. “Come on then, Bond. Let’s get inside so I can pig out and sleep. In a bed. Oh lord.” She was already out of the door, her voice low as she mumbled to herself. He exited the car but realized right away that she was right. His arm would not go unnoticed and he needed to keep a low profile.

But then she was there next to him. Her arm wove through his cold steel one. She leaned her body into him effectively hiding the shine as best as one could. He looked at her, confusion battling with wonder.

She merely smirked up at him, an eye brow raised. She was challenging him to pull away. He would not even if his life depended on it.

They walked together to the entrance and waited silently as she put in her pin. He knew the numbers she pushed without even looking, his ears sensing the minuscule differences in tone. He figured his senses were… enhanced along with his strange ability to heal. Hydra thought of it as an effective skill for the soldier.

He had no time to think more on it as she pulled him through the open door. Her body seemed to hum and her feet gained speed. She was happy to be so close to comfort and he was reassured of his earlier worries. They would get his memory back, using her apartment as headquarters. Of this, he was certain.

Although he did not mind confines so much, he absolutely detested elevators. As soon as she tugged him inside the mirrored, four walled box, he immediately felt his heat rate jump. He let lose a groan and closed his eyes against the falling sensation as the machine lifted them up and up.

“You ok there, hun?” He heard her whisper, felt her hand curl into his metal one. His stomach was up in his lungs and he felt the tug of memory. Of falling. Of pain.

“Don’t like it.” He managed between gritted teeth. Still he refused to open his eyes.

“Ok, almost there.” _Ding. “_ See! Sixth floor!” She announced softly, pulling him out of the vile contraption. “I think we’ll take the stairs next time.”

“Yes. That would be better.” He muttered, his eyes finding hers in the dim hallway. She tilted her head and sighed. He could see her brain working through it. She was questioning herself, speculating as to why she put trust in him. He wondered too.

“Alright. Let’s get you inside.” The woman huffed, letting go of his hand to dig into the large duffle. He thought about the strange bag, wondered if she packed everything in there.

The woman managed to get her keys in the door and swung it open. She turned to him and opened her arm in invitation.

But he heard something else; saw a flash of movement over her shoulder inside her darkened apartment. Before he knew it, he had her pushed behind him and had his metal hand around the throat of the intruder at the same time as a gun flew up and was tucked into his ribs.


	10. Jumping the gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha is forced to take extreme (and pleasant) action.

 Sasha felt a little proud of her restraint both in terms of not screaming in surprise and in thinking much quicker than either man. She knew the halls had two cameras to prevent illegal activities and security.  So when she realized it was Boney who was pressing a heavy barreled pistol up into Bucky 's rib cage, she did the first thing that came to her panicked mind. She clumsily pushed both men into her apartment and slammed the door shut behind her.

"Knock it off boys!" She whispered violently, happy to see her soldier was (barely) restraining himself, loosely clutching her mentor’s fleshy neck. Wait... Her soldier?

"You gone mad? Get out girl!" Boney yelled, or at least attempted too. The metal hand increased the pressure slightly making his already gravelly voice harder to understand.

"Bucky, let go of him." She ordered tensely; fists on her hips. Really, it was like taking to misbehaving children. "And Mr. Rodriguez Boney Thompson. Get that gun out of my boyfriend’s ribs!"

Stunned silence from all three echoed in the air. Maybe she wasn't as clever as she aimed to be but it was the only thing to come to mind! She was usually a fast thinker but Boney knew when she was lying so she hoped he'd be too shocked to question it.  Hoped....

Bucky slowly lowered his arm, stepping closer to her. Sasha wasn’t sure if it was because of her statement (assuming he was going along with her ruse) or that Boney still had the gun trained on his heart.

"Boyfr-" The old man stuttered. The older man looked back and forth between herself and the still battle ready Bucky. Like the genius he was, he scratched his brown and grey head with the butt of the gun.

Bucky moved faster than anyone could see and quickly had the weapon on the counter, the clip placed in one of his many pockets. She barely registered his movements let alone understand them until he was back by her side.

"What the fuck is he?" The ex-boxer asked, looking at his now empty hands. The frown that marred his brow causing wrinkles to form deep crevasses in his puckered skin. Not the most attractive man, but he sure had years etched on him.

"Um... my boyfriend. I spent a few days with him." She stated dumbly, hating the knot of guilt that twisted her stomach. 

Beady black eyes shot to hers and she watched in horror as he shrewdly assessed her. Yea, there's no way he's going to believe her. Then he looked to Bucky who had inched even closer to her though she could see now he was standing just a bit in front of her body.  It seemed... oddly protective.

"Sasha ain't one to lie to me. So now I'm to assume that my girl, who's never been on any date that I hadn't known 'bout, has magically found herself a boyfriend and SPENT TWO DAYS WITH HIM!" By this time the old man's face had gone redder then usual and his fists clenched, ready to pound the lights out of Bucky. The idea was scary as Sasha new that would be just dangerous. For them both. She had to convince Boney or else there was going to be someone's blood on her swanky wood floor.

The soldier stepped closer to the retired boxer, his own hands clearly ready for anything. She could not let that happen. So she did the only thing her sleep deprived, hungry, grumpy, and clearly idiotic brain thought of. 

She jumped in front of Bucky, pulled his shocked face down and kissed him. See, it all made sense in that moment. Kiss the man, Boney would be convinced and go home. Then... THen... Awe hell.

She had thought the guy would be cold but after a few seconds of stunned stillness, she felt the hard steel fingertips press lightly against her neck. She was just as shocked as he was but the pressure was beginning to increase and she realized he was leaning into her. The sensation of his (way too soft) mouth burned hers and she felt her reality slip away.

Sasha lost track of her thoughts as she moved her hands from his scruffy face and wove her long fingers through the loose hairs at the nape of his neck as his human hand came up to cup her face. She hummed in contentment. It wasn’t that she had never been kissed. It’s just… no one had ever kissed her like this. Softly, innocently.

Oh this was too much. Her body tingled and her mind was blank expect for the way the metal grazed the hot skin of her lower back ever so lightly.

But before she could even react to the intimate touch, a rather loud (and clearly fake) cough rent the air jarring the couple.  She turned in Bucky’s arms but did not want to put space between them. She was still reeling from whatever  _that_  was.

"Um... Boney, hun. I'm sorry I didn't call or tell you. Really I am." She pleaded, her voice a little husky and raw. The old stocky man looked very uncomfortable as he shifted from one foot to the other but he was not entirely convinced.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Too much too soon. After the last few days, she could feel her body wanting to shut down completely.

"You might not believe me, Boney but you have to at least trust me." She said, her voice sure and strong now, even though she felt the complete opposite. He simply nodded, suspicion clear on his face along with frustrated trust.

She smiled softly in relief. He might not let this go completely but he'd have faith in her. Maybe that was not the best idea because clearly she was having lapses in sanity. Kissing a deadly kidnapper.... Yesh.

"Don’t even know him." Boney grumbled.  His voice was aged by shouting and he sounded so much older to her then. It struck her suddenly that he was being fatherly, in his won unique way. He was worried about her and had come to find her.  

She flung herself into his arms, relieved when he wrapped his meaty ones around her and squeezed.

"You damn near gave me a heart attack." He accused gruffly. She wanted to laugh and cry. After all the stress, all the emotional whiplash of the last few days, she finally felt a little bit of peace. Boney was her rock. Her solid piece in this fucked up world.

"M'sorry. Love you Bones." She whispered weakly.

He coughed, a sign of him being uncomfortable with feelings, and held her at arm’s length. She chuckled when he shot his eyes to Bucky, kept them narrowed as if he was trying to look intimidating.

"I don't know who you are. Or what you are," He looked pointedly at the soldier’s strange appendage.  "But if you hurt her and she doesn't kill you first, rest assured I will." He nodded, giving Sasha one more once over and left briskly. She stared at the closed door wondering what to do now... about everything.

Sasha felt Bucky's tension as it lay thick in the room. She didn't know which part of their strange encounter caused the feeling but she knew she didn't even want to think about it. 

Ignoring his gaze, she tossed the heavy bag on her thrift store couch and went straight for the modern but simple kitchen. Stark had gone all out with appliances and she took advantage of them with her measly cooking abilities.

She knew he stood by the door, his body all tight and unrelenting as she nervously started a pot of water on the boil. Her hands were shaking, for god knows what reason, as she tried to cut an onion. A pan with oil was already on the burner, ready for the vegetables if only she could concentrate.

Realizing she was acting foolish, (it was just a kiss. Not even a real one!) She turned to him, arms across her chest.

"Look, I'm sorry about that. I was just trying to... I don't know. Not blow cover?" She huffed, her hands flying up to accentuate her flustered state. She still couldn't look at him in the eyes and she really felt childish. Sasha brought her hands to her face and rubbed hard. A habit she picked up long ago and something she did when she couldn't control her emotions.

She felt him move, knew he was only inches from her. She peeked through the web of her fingers to see him looking intently at her.  His hand outstretched a little as if he stopped himself from touching her.

Now she was just making things up. 

"Do you need help? To make food?" He whispered solemnly. She smiled behind her palms silently thanking him for not making this awkward.

"I assume you are good with a knife.  You can cut the rest of the veggies while I get the noodles and chicken ready." She offered, pulling her hands down. 

She marveled at the way he took to it, his hands moving with swift fluid motions.  She barely got the noodles in the water by the time he was done.

The food cooked while she grabbed two plates and glasses and she thought about how odd it was that she was being domestic with a trained assassin. (Though he never used the term aloud she was positive that's what he was.) A soldier moved certain ways. A killer moved other ways. But Bucky? He was all but none of them. Plus he'd been involved with HYDRA so...

And now she's sitting and about to dine with him and if that's not saying something about her sanity, she didn't know what would.

She tossed everything together making a simple stir-fry and brought their food to her big brown heavily patched couch. She would have time to examine her choices in the morning and gather her self-control. After all, she wasn’t the kind of girl who just threw herself into situations without forethought. And yet here she was, eating with Bucky. A man whose past was clouded by deception and pain. Who had likely killed many people. Who had kidnapped her. And yet here she was.

After a few moments, she flicked on the TV and refused to think any more on it. The day was done, her stomach was happy, her couch was comfy, and she kissed a handsome dude. So at the end of it all, she found herself rather pleased. (ignoring all the glaring problems of who he was and why she was so hungry and blah blah blah.)

She decided that this was just an adventure. She deserved to have a little excitement in her boring life and what better way to do that then to cook for an assassin.

She chuckled aloud, making said man jump slightly. She ignored it though, realizing that he had been watching her intently, as he often did.

It was some hours later, and she wasn’t even sure when she had fallen asleep, that she felt him lift her and carry her like one would a child. After two doors, he found her room and gently lowered her onto her bed. Sasha was so far gone that perhaps she dreamed it. Most likely imagined it.

But she thought she heard him whisper, “Goodnight, Sasha.” before she fell into blissful sleep.


	11. Emotions are new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a lot to think about and a lot to learn.

Outside of the comfortable apartment, the city was buzzing in the night with life. The man knew only a few could hear as well as he, and even then most did not simply… listen. There was comfort in knowing that even with all the destruction, all the threats, that the people still moved forward. The city refused to bow and cower to fear. Much like the brave creature he found himself indebted too.

The man stretched his long longs across the aged couch, his mind replaying the events of the day. It was nearly an hour since he had watched her slowly drift to sleep; her breathing becoming long and silent. Even though he felt the same pull to rest, especially now that the throbbing in his skull returned, he still needed to canvas the living quarters. As he had hoped, there were no bugs, cameras, or anything suspicious. Her apartment was clean but it was clear that she had not lived here long. There was a spare room full of boxes left haphazardly, still taped shut, all with thick black writing. All of them belonging to the man named Mark.

 The woman, Sasha, had treated him as a guest. She offered him a place to sleep, food to eat. He was an intruder in her life but she was being kind. Careless, but kind. He had to admit that Sasha was an enigma he had yet to encounter, as far as he knew and though he had initially wanted to force her, threaten her, he now found her willing help comforting. But that was not what he thought on now as he cautiously laid back, a pillow tucked under his aching head. 

She had risked her life, and that was not an overstatement, by her earlier stunt. His instinct screamed to snap her neck when she had grabbed his face, her fingers pulling him down to her level. His hands had flown up, ready to fight, but there had been something that stopped him. Not necessarily a memory, but rather a conscious feeling of rightness.

She kissed him gently and his mind, for the first time in his life (what he remembered of it), had been clear of thought. There was only feeling and it was... new. He wanted to embrace her; a craving he did not know existed inside his black heart.

The older man, the one she held so fondly had not believed the ruse, if it were one, but had trusted her judgment. The only problem, which to him was a glaring flaw in his design, was letting the man go. The soldier’s whole mission could be compromised if the stocky man spoke of him. There were S.H.E.I.L.D and HYDRA on his scent not to mention the multiple organizations he's... interacted with over god knows how many years.  

And the woman seemed to be the root of his thoughtlessness. Even now as he tried to contemplate his next step involving the man named Boney, his thoughts drifted to the sandy skinned Sasha. His initial shock over the incident had brought forth a new round of clips and scenes. Things he remembered, but not full images. More like a forgotten touch or the memory of a sound. A smell of fresh popcorn.

He shook his head but only seemed to make the pounding worse. The pain must be from the recollections, though he wished he knew more about how and why.  

His lack of knowledge was beginning to become a hindrance. Aside from no data on Boney, whom he was still concerned about, he had no intelligence on anything inside the labs he needed to get into. He'd staked out Stark towers after hearing that was the home and meeting place of the Ironman. Said man was to be his next target after the man from the bridge; an enemy to his old handlers. His technologies were beyond the scope of even the best Hydra scientists. So he waited and watched. Days passed as he narrowed down dozens of people to just three. Sasha was the least likely to help both by her skill in combat, as he witnessed on several occasions through the foggy windows of the old man's gym, and as having the lowest clearance level in comparison.

And yet he chose her. He saw the heart in her. In her small acts of random kindness. He was drawn to her. But most importantly, he saw how alone sure was. Like him.

He stood quickly, the pain in his skull beginning a fierce beat. The apartment was not small but it seemed confining now. He knew it was withdrawals from the freeze, his body acclimating to being awake for so long.

He aimed to distract his mind as he stumbled slightly to the spare room. Sasha slept on across the hall, her door open. He did not need lights, not with his eyes and he could clearly see her slumped form hugging one of her many pillows. She looked so young. So calm.

But he knew her heart was aged by strife and she had a fire that boiled just beneath her bronzed skin. He found he liked that about her.

He managed to pull his eyes away and concentrate on his end goal. With no files on Sasha, only going by what he saw and could gather himself, he was in an uncomfortable position of ignorance. Boney was her coach but also a friend? Clearly they cared for each other. Though the age difference would suggest a more fatherly affiliation.

Sasha had a brother who was recently deceased. He was, if he recalled correctly, working for S.H.E.I.L.D. when it all went wrong and died in the ensuing battle. The few photos she had, however, shown Sasha, her dusky skin contrasting harshly with a very pale, very thin young man. Their physical differences did not detract from the love that was clearly present in the snaps. He had thought maybe the man was her lover, but soon found evidence that he was her brother. The young man who Sasha lost was Mark.

He was sitting on the wooden floor, a box open in front of him. There were pictures, books. Small things that looked to be tossed in there without thought. He saw only Sasha and the boy, some pictures were quite old. Both of them children in one. He rummaged quietly through the large box. The soldier was looking for information. Looking for normalcy.

But the man felt the guilt rise.

Before he could replace the items and leave the room to its peace, he sensed movement. Too late a heavy book came crashing into his temple. The pain was nothing compared to the rage. His body jumped, ready to kill the attacker at all costs.

He grabbed blindly for the legs, knocking the bastard on their back. The hallway was still dark, but he felt the walls shake as the attacker heaved their body, tossing him into the wall. But he was too strong, too fast. A fist made contact with his nose, blood trickling lightly.

He was ready to wrap his hands around their neck, to take their life, but then he heard the whimper.

He tried to clear his head of the frenzy, to really see what was happening. And like a knife in his gut he realized it was Sasha who had attacked him. Her face was a painful mix of sorrow and fury.

“You have no right-,” she gasped between aching sobs, “,to go in there.”

His body was pinning hers to the hard-paneled wood floor, one of his knees between her legs with his arms braced himself on either side of her head.

The man had sworn to never hurt an innocent again but here he’s gone and nearly killed this woman. The only person to be kind to him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know-,” he mumbled lamely, feeling a new emotion settle into his stomach. Her eyes were closed, most likely in hatred.

This was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to hurt her.

“I miss him.” She whispered through soft breaths.

After several heavy seconds, her golden-brown eyes found his. Tears rested in the corners, threatening to spill down her flushed face. It was all making his chest ache and he wanted to… sooth her.

He had broken her trust after all. He shouldn’t be surprised. He was, apparently, a villain.

He went to stand, to slowly remove his body from her presence but her hands came up and wrapped around his neck. He felt no tension this time. Only surprise. She was embracing him, pulling him down so he lay flush against her.

Her body begin to shake as she cried silently into the crook in his neck. This was not something he was prepared for, this type of touch or feeling. But he knew, something deep inside him knew, that grief was a powerful emotion.

A plan formulated in his mind, small and vague, but there. He pushed up with one arm, using his other to keep her body pressed tightly against him. Sasha let him, as the sobs wracked her frame.

When he got to his knees, he lifted her for the second time that night, his arms cradling her close. He felt guilt, remorse, and a myriad of emotions he had yet to find names for. But most importantly, he felt _empathy_. She lost her brother. She hurt for him. And yet, she still reached out for the soldier.

No…

Sasha reached out for Bucky.

He took her back to the couch, judging it safe and also big enough. She made no move to disengage from him so he pulled them up, his back against the arm, legs sprawled out underneath her as she lay willingly on his chest. He sighed in relief as she kicked the blanket that was at their feet up and over them. His human hand still rested heavily against her back, his thumb unconsciously making small circles.

“Sorry I hit you.” She mumbled, her lips moving against his collar. Even with the shirt, he felt the heat from her mouth and _that_ was causing an entirely new and strange reaction.

“I’m sorry for… all of my actions.” He offered, his voice cracking slightly. Had it always been so hard for him to speak?

“I’m still mad at you.” She replied, though he heard no malice. She punctuated her statement with a loud yawn, her muscles tensing and relaxing comfortably in his arms.

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t if he wanted to. His heart was heavy and his mind was finally catching up to his body. His senses were full of her, the fresh smell of vanilla, her hands curled against his chest. He felt her breaths, her heartbeat, all of it lulling him into the most peaceful slumber any man had ever claimed. His body slumped into hers and they clung to each other for different reasons, but clung none the less.

And this is how they woke.


	12. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha and Bucky learn a bit about themselves.

She woke for the first time in weeks feeling warm. There was no empty, painful hole that often tormented her in the early hours when her mind was weak. She would feel the loneliness of her life and she was forced to remember every person who had left her.

But here, in the warm cocoon under the thick blanket, she felt needed. She felt comfort.

Until she remembered that there was a body under here. The very fit body of a very dangerous man.

She smiled softly. He may be dangerous but he had done what no other had.  Not a single person had ever held her while she cried. She hadn't trusted anyone, had never felt the need for comfort as she did last night. 

She had felt such blinding rage when she opened her eyes, awakened by a strange sound, to see Bucky sitting in the spare room. His bulky body was slumped, hands rummaging through Mark's boxes.

She had seen red, blinded by a grief so strong that she lost sense of all reason.

God, she wanted him to hurt.  She hit and kicked but could not damage the fucker. Not that it was him necessarily that she was attacking, but rather her own pain.

It was only after he had her pinned, her eyes too clouded to see, that she realized she was crying. That she wanted to cry. She had yet to shed a tear for Mark, instead letting the rage boil beneath her. 

Now in the early morning comfort of her living room, Sasha realized that all she needed was a push in the right direction. A forced cry was a world better than the bottled up sorrow. And she had him to think, though she was still mad at his snooping. She shifted her head back slightly hoping to not wake him, so she could look at his face.

And surprise! He was already roused and staring down at her with bright blue eyes, his expression unreadable. 

The warm fuzzies disappeared in a flash as all of the past few days came together. She was letting her heart make things up so she could feel sorry for him. Even though she did, she didn’t want to like him. He was her kidnapper. If she wanted to get out of this alive and unharmed, she'd do best not to get too cozy with the assassin. 

Without preamble, she jumped from the couch and headed quickly to the kitchen to start the coffee. Sasha would probably have gone on a rampage of she went one more day without her vice.

Speaking of vices, she realized she could finally shower properly. The giddy bubble of laughter was impossible to suppress as she nearly ran to the bathroom. After turning the water on she ran back out to the living room where Bucky sat, his face lowered. He hadn't moved a muscle since she left the comfort of his arm and she wondered if he was upset.

"Hey Bucky, I'm going to hop in the shower." She said cheerfully, hoping to dispel the gloomy mood. His eyes lifted to hers and she saw a flash.  Some emotion she couldn't (or wouldn't) identify.

"I'll try and save you some hot water." She chuckled as she padded back down to the steamy room, peeling off the t - shirt and boxer shorts she had fallen asleep in and tossed then to the floor.  She'd clean after her soak, she swore, looking at the state of her bathroom. She didn't want Bucky seeing it like this. 

She laughed to herself and wondered when this... all of it, started to affect her.

But she knew. It was the very moment she had awoken in the car that fateful morning. She had looked to her kidnapper and saw a broken man who was clearly screaming for help.

Jesus, it was all downhill from there. 

She let the water soak into her, the heat of it turning her skin red. She thought back on how she used to hate her skin. The children from school, those cruel pricks, had made sure she knew every day that she didn't belong. She wasn't black.  She wasn't white.  No one wanted to be seen with her, the mixed girl.

Now she enjoyed her color, had learned to become proud of the tanned skin. After all, this was the only body she had so she was better off learning to love it.  That was a lesson her little brother taught her. 

But here, in the steaming confines of her simple bathroom, she really thought about how she looked. And she kept coming back to one thing. Or, one person rather. She wondered more than ever what he thought.  _Damn it, Tash. Get your shit together._

 Getting out, she wrapped a plush brown towel around her curvy figure. She used her calloused hand to wipe a path in the mirror in an attempt to clear it but she only saw a misty version of herself. Even in this, she was unclear.

Sighing, Sasha squared her shoulders and stood tall. She didn’t need anyone’s approval. She was fucking awesome… Right. But she still hesitated, her shaking hand on the door knob.  _Come on girl, he’s just a dude._

She was out the door and heading straight for her bedroom. Easy as that. Just like before all of this chaos, she tossed off her towel and started rummaging through her drawers. Comfy pair of jean shorts, a silky tank, and a warm cardi. Boom, she’d look fly. A little nice for lounging in, by she had a guest so… you know.

On her way out, she grabbed her laptop and found herself humming happily. It was strange, this morning. She was rested, clean, and would soon be having a cup of coffee. The only thing that could make it better was bacon and eggs.

After pouring herself a cup she finally looked over the kitchen breakfast bar that separated the living room to find Bucky sitting upright, his eyes straight ahead. He looked like he was in a daze. But there was also the teeniest, most miniscule amount of pain and terror there just below the surface. She didn’t know what he was thinking about but she knew she had to distract him and fast.

“Hey Bucky!” She called maybe a little too loudly by the way his whole body jerked violently. He hands were clenched and she knew it was his body preparing for battle. He’d have to get used to the fact that not everyone wanted to kill him.

“Sorry, bud. You want a cup of coffee?” She asked encouragingly. As hoped, he nodded and rose to his feet. Hot damn, he was tall. She smiled to herself, thinking about the girls from high school. They used to say, “Find me a tall, dark, and handsome to steal me away.” Bitches have no idea. She’s got the real deal here.

“I’m going to make breakfast too. It’s my favorite meal. Eggs, bacon, hash, and toast. Simple but fucking amazing.” She called over her shoulder. She really should stop staring, so to distract her pervy thoughts, she started getting out the supplies as he made himself comfortable at the table.

Or so she thought, because as soon as she turned around, she nearly face planted into a broad chest. Sasha felt a pinch of annoyance but refused to let it show. Not to him.

“Can I watch?” He asked, taking a step back allowing her room to unload all the ingredients in her arms. It hit her then that he probably didn’t know how to cook. Or, at least he didn’t remember. That’s something that he’ll have to learn, she reasoned. Him standing close will help. With the learning. And stuff. Yea.

“Sure thing. Just, make sure you watch carefully.” She hummed, already feeling his presence affecting her.

She showed him the ropes of cooking breakfast, all the ins and outs, even letting him flip the bacon. Well, mostly because she always managed to get burned and his metal arm was perfect. You just wipe the oil off.

They sat and ate as she opened her laptop to cruise the web as she did every morning. He had chosen the chair next to hers rather than across but she didn’t say anything. It was nice.

Sasha was half way through eating when she found a news article. She knew instantly it was about Bucky. She read it quickly but thoroughly, aware his eyes could see everything she saw. It was about the S.H.E.I.L.D. headquarters and the attacks perpetrated by Hydra and their weapon. A man called The Winter Soldier. She shivered, tugging the thick cardigan closer. As she did often, she brought her legs up under as she read the distressing piece.

There was good news to be had though, as Captain America had assured the people he was personally searching for the man. She wondered what that star-spangled hero would do to poor Bucky if he got ahold of him.

She peaked over her shoulder to see the man staring intently at her. He was waiting. Her heart was thrumming and she took in this information with mixed feelings. One thing, though, she had to know before they moved forward.

“You attacked S.H.E.I.L.D.” She stated. It was not a question but not an accusation either. He nodded, his hair falling lose from the tie.

“Answer with words please.” She mumbled, her ire rising the more she thought about it.

“I was ordered to kill the Captain. He was inside of S.H.E.I.L.D. The same time Peirce was discovered to be the leader of Hydra.” He said all of this flatly, his eyes seeing through her and she sensed he thought that she would not help him. She wasn’t so sure she would.

“Ok, but were you… you?” She whispered. It was a strange and stupid question but to her it made complete sense.

“No. Not how I am now.” Now his violent blue eyes were on hers, though they burned with something fierce. “I tried to kill him. The Captain, even when he said we had been friends. He made me remember. He called me a name.”

“Bucky?” She asked, as much a question as a plea.

“James Buchanan Barnes. He said he was my friend.” He grumbled into his hands. She could tell now his head was beginning to ache by the way he closed his eyes and dug his fingers into his temples.

She left him in silence as she ran over the new information. So the guy was a friend of Captain America. Ok… that would make since if his brain was messed up, memory of the friendship lost. So, at the time of Marks death, of the whole fucking shebang, Bucky was a brainwashed hyper-soldier with a machine arm. Yikes. Talk about sci-fi.

Sasha didn’t know where the trust came from seeing as she had only ever trusted two people in her whole life, but here this man sat; a man whom she should explicitly  _not_  trust. And she did. It was a simple as that.

She was going to log off when a thought hit her. The name. He said another name.

Quickly she typed it into google, not expecting much, but boy was she wrong. Pages and pages dedicated to James “Bucky” Barnes. He had a fan page, a website full of his exploits, and the even a comic book.

But she went straight for the wiki. Her heart nearly stopped dead in her chest when her eyes fell upon Captain America and the smooth smiling face of a Sargent Barnes. Her Bucky, though many, many years younger. It wasn’t that he looked younger. It was, and hold on here while she hyperventilates, that he was born nearly a hundred years ago and served (and died?) in World War Fucking Two.

There was no mistaking the man that sat next to her and the one from the photo. They were identical, though now Bucky had long hair, stubbly face, and a darkness that clouded his eyes. But they were, without a single doubt, the same man. A sudden shiver slithered up her spine.

“Hey Bucky. I think you should see this.” She whispered, bringing his attention from out of his hands. As soon as he saw the screen, the laptop was up and in his lap. He sat for long moments, reading. His stunning blue eyes moving faster than she thought was humanly possible. Sasha was biting her lip by the time he was done, though he sat staring at the picture, his hands shaking slightly as he gripped the machine.

Gingerly she lifted the computer and closed it, wishing she had found an easier way to tell him. She was still reeling from everything, but the look of pained confusion that covered his face hurt her heart in ways that she didn’t want to think about.

“You’ll figure it all out.” She hummed, her hand instinctively clutching his silver one. He looked down dazed and then met her eyes. God, she wanted to cry for him. It looked like someone fucking kicked a puppy.

“I want to know more about him… about me.” He replied softly, his gaze pleading. She thought about using the internet, but there were so many ways it could be monitored. She was afraid too much interest in searching his name would be a red flag. After all, she didn’t know how many agencies were after him.

And then it hit her. Captain America. They were in the same team in the photographs. The Howling Commandoes. And she knew where she could get a ton of information.

“Let’s get that arm covered James Buchanan Barnes. We are going to the Museum.”


	13. The ride

Bucky sat next to the passive woman who had somehow become an integral part of existence, her hands clenched in front of her as the large bus rumbled along the inner city roads. She had managed to purchase last minute tickets to this transportation, stating there will be no more stolen cars. Although he was frustrated, he allowed her this one concession. His mind had been reeling since that morning, thoughts of the past trickling in though they were foggy at best. He knew they were memories but none of them materialized into full pictures. Just senses and general feelings that he was unable to understand.

He watched out the window as they left lower Manhattan and begun their journey towards what he hoped would be more information about his life. He could tell Sasha was clearly anxious about being caught by the way she kept glancing around the semi-crowded bus and then back to him. He understood her concern. She would be interrogated by men outside the law. She would be tortured and drilled for any information about him and he knew firsthand the type of people who wanted said information. This sudden realization, that he had put her in the worst kind of danger, made his stomach twist painfully.

"We should go back." He whispered harshly, noticing how she flinched. Her warm brown eyes flew to his, her mouth turned down in confusion.

"Why?" She asked in a hushed voice, leaning towards him slightly. Her vanilla scent drifted up to him and he had to suppress the urge to sniff loudly making him wonder how she even smelled of comfort. 

"I have put you in danger.  I cannot risk you getting caught." He mumbled. The man glanced around for any watching eyes or eavesdropping ears but saw not one. 

"Look, I'm sure it won't be hard to find another helper if I'm arrested. Besides, this'll be good." She answered, her fingers curling around his metal ones. His sensors recognized the touch, her heat and pulse warming his cold steel and he grasped her hand lightly. She was so strange this woman. She who held the weapon as if it were a real flesh and bone appendage. She who made him food, joked with him, offered him comfort. And the bizarre creature thought he only cared about getting into Stark Towers rather than her safety. 

"Sasha," He started but was interrupted by get intake of breath and the stunning smile that pierced his heart. 

"That's the first time you said my name." She chuckled, wiggling her eye brows.  "You know what this means?" 

He could only shake his head in stunned silence.

"It means we’re friends." She smiled brilliantly and laid her head on his shoulder. Her soft hair falling over his chest in simple waves.

The word hit him like a bullet to the heart. She not only trusted him but she would willingly call him a friend. What a wild mistake. 

They sat in silence for the entirety of the ride, the bus gently swaying with turns and stops. Time lost definition and he fell into the darkness to think about everything that has transpired. His mind craved both answers and the freeze. He was, however, always aware of the woman next to him. Her breathing solid and calm, allowing him peace.

He was lost in thought when the driver announced their destination would be coming up in five miles. He felt some of the tension leave his shoulders knowing he would soon be free of the confining and crowded machine.

Sasha raised her head and he missed the weight. She began to rummage through her bag, this one not much smaller than a suitcase though she had claimed it was a multi-purpose purse. Not that he even knew what that meant.

He did not miss how her body became suddenly tense, nor could he ignore the man who had sat across the aisle from them. The older fair skinned man was staring at Sasha, his grizzled face awash with confusion and distaste. As if he ate something foul.

“Seriously?” She mumbled to herself, her eyes staring straight at the head-rest in front of her.

“Why does he look that way?” Bucky asked, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

She looked to him, her eyes swimming with anger and sadness. She sighed after searching his face, for what he did not know.

“It’s because you are white. And I am… not. I am too colored to be seen with you.” Her voice cracked slightly and she glanced away quickly. He almost missed the look of remembered sorrow in her eyes. Almost.

“I could kill him for you.” He offered. The jest fell off his tongue as if it were the easiest thing. He felt as though he used to joke a lot, though to be honest, in this moment he wasn’t sure if it was truly one.

As he hoped, she whipped her stunned face around and stared open mouthed at him. He felt his lips pull once again, though sure there was no true change in his outward appearance, she must have seen the humor in his eyes.

Her laugh was deep, the sound reverberated through his body reaching a place in him he thought long dead.

The old man looked away, his red face proof he was aware their shared joke was at his expense. It made it even more satisfying than before.

They departed in relative peace, Sasha briskly moving through the throng of people. He followed so close behind her that he often felt the brush of her hand, or the caress of her shoulder length hair against his cheek. The day was not quite sunny, but it was bright enough to see the building from the distance. There were people bustling about like ants. There tiny figures merging and disappearing into giant doors.

“This, my dear James, is the Smithsonian Museum. It’s a compilation of several different types of Museums but we are here for the Captain America exhibit that opened up a year and a half ago.” She said, her arms open wide to the chaos. She looked at him with bright brown eyes.

“James?” He asked softly. He nearly missed it, stunned by her excitement, but the shock of the name hit him.

“Well yea,” She hummed, putting her arm through his as they began to wade their way to one of the larger structures. “I can’t call you the other one. This place has ears.” This she whispered, her eyes serious. She was right. Calling him Bucky would undoubtedly draw some sort of unwanted attention. Besides, he liked the way she said James.

He nodded, finding his mouth at a loss for words, but she merely smiled and pulled him faster.

“We would normally have to go through security, and a HUGE metal detector.” She stated, and smirked as she felt him tense. “Buuuut, I have an old foster brother who owes me one. He works as a janitor in the Captain exhibit. I texted him today and he’ll be here to let us in.” She was nearly hopping with joy.

“You had your phone?” He asked suddenly, his hand inside his pocket. He was sure he had lifted it from her that first day in the bunker. The day that seemed a life time ago.

“Mmmhmmm. I’m the pickpocket master.” She laughed. “I took it off you when we walked back to my apartment the first night.”

He wanted to smile. For such a brazen girl, she had been so sneaky he hadn’t even felt her remove the device.

He would have to commend her later, because at the moment, she was leading him back and down a narrow walkway between two of the outlying structures; one of which was rather large and he assumed was their destination. With her arm still around his, the cold metal resting inside the pocket of his black pants, she lifted up the little black device. A few quick texts later and she smiled again. He liked this Sasha. Her face hid none of her true feelings, unlike she did when there were people around.

Several yards away a handle-less steel door opened to produce a small young man. Early 20’s, 5’6, 160lbs, left arm had been broken and set improperly. He would not be a threat to Bucky or Sasha. Realizing his train of thought, he strained to look as normal as possible. He was still sizing up enemies, even when there were none.

“Hey Sash, come on. You’re almost too late. Shift change in a minute, no one’s watching the cameras over here.” The man whispered violently. His deep voice a shock compared to his small frame.

“Yea, alright.” She mumbled, pulling him along through the steel door. He walked into darkness but his eyes adjusted quickly. Dusty shelves and massive desks lined the walls. This room was old and by the looks of it, no longer used.

“Thanks, Nate. Gotta run. We are even.” She shook the man’s hand, though he seemed more than ready to run from the room and never look back.

“You fucking right we are. And if you fuckers get caught, I don’t know you, I ain’t let you in. Keep your trap shut.” He grunted roughly. The man was smart, he didn’t even look towards Bucky, let alone acknowledge his presence. Without another word. he turned on a heel and was out the door.

Sasha slowly faced him, her eyes betraying the smile on her face. She was nervous. So was he.

“Ok James. Let’s see who you were.” She whispered, her voice shaking slightly. Before he could turn, he felt her palm on his chest. The action stunned him, but he realized there was no urge to strike, no instinct for defend.

“Just know that…” She paused, her teeth nibbling on her plump lower lip. It was… distracting to say the least. “no matter what you see in there… You don’t have to be that. You are not that soldier anymore.” She took the hand from his chest and rubbed her face. Her words were failing her.

“You can be anyone you want. You don’t have to be  _that_  Bucky. You know?”

The dark interior of the room seemed to quiet in the wake of her words.  Sasha’s concern for him was enough to make his stomach twist. He looked down at his hand, its shinning gleam a reminder of what they had done to him.

She was right. He was forever altered, but he had the power to choose now. His only fear was that he would chose wrong and hurt more people.

Soft hands gripped his face with a tenderness he didn’t deserve. Fingers wove through his hair and up into the lining if the baseball cap he donned. Before he could move, as if he wanted to, her lips, the ones he had admired not moments ago, were pressed tenderly against his own. Another kiss.

But this one was different. This was not rushed. This was not fake. It was all soft, all heaven, all Sasha.

And before he could understand, it was over.

She pulled away, her warm cheeks tinged red as she averted her eyes. Her fingers found his hand, once again the metal sensing her. With the long sweatshirt and her own hand covering his, no one would notice the metal, but he felt now, she did this not because she was covering his anomaly, but rather she enjoyed it.

He liked the idea.

Deciding now was not the time to figure out what just happened, he braced himself for whatever was to come next, Bucky squared his shoulders. He might not be the assassin anymore, but he was a soldier at heart. He would face this down.

“Let’s go find me.”


	14. The Thing About Questions

 

 As far as commitment goes, Sasha was failing miserably. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't get too close, to not get physically involved (because she was already way too emotionally) but look at her now. Smooching him and feeling like she's falling into something way to too deep for her to handle.

Now she wanted to hold him, to tell him no matter how fucked up this situation was, they could figure this out. But she couldn't. Not with the terrified cornered animal look he had. She was positive no one else could see it but her. He held himself rigid, staring straight at the eight-foot-tall mural. The same face gazed back though this one was younger, short army cut and trimmed face. He had a small smirk on his face as if life was all one big joke. They were the same face but completely different people.

She had read the plaque, just as assuredly as he had, and was amazed to discover that he was thought to have died in 1945. It held vital information, the Zola train, Hydra, and his affiliation with the Captain. She had known these things from the brief google search, but what she hadn't known was… him. His smile. The gleam in his eye as he looked to his best friend in pride. She felt the pieces moving closer together and yet further away.

They were showing clips filmed during his time. Black and white reels showing men marching. Bucky shooting a rifle, the Captain hovering over a map. Things she only saw in old war movies and documentaries they played in class. It was so surreal to see him standing not five feet before her, and to see him high up on the screen from 70 years ago. The brightness casting strange shadows over Bucky's face as he continued to stare.

She stood, intent on reaching out to him but before she could even raise her hand, he was gone. The blue ball cap moving through the crowd silently and much too fast for her follow. He was bailing, the information an overload. Jesus, she should have thought…

She almost called out to him, but she stopped herself in time. Instead she tried to retrace their steps heading to the empty spare room. It took her nearly ten minutes to find and by the time she did she was in a full-on panic. What if he was caught? Oh fuck, he could have disappeared into the city. What if he had freaked out and hurt someone? But no, she knew that he wouldn't.

God, she was fucking stupid. She only wanted to help and here she'd screwed things up like usual. She looked down the hall, making sure it was clear, and pushed the door open.

She'd only just closed it, her eyes not adjusted to the darkness, when a body violently pushed itself against her, slamming her back to the heavy door. She wanted to fight, to scream, but then felt the cold metal grip her back. His shaggy hair brushed her neck and he held her close.

Oh, thank god. She hugged him back, feeling her body shake from both fear and relief.

Sasha closed her eyes and banished the little voice telling her she's too deep. All she knew was that he was here and hurting and that he was grasping her. He stayed and knew she'd find him. Sasha knew she would help him if it was the last thing she did.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you here." She mumbled into his dark hair. She felt him grip her tighter, press her body back into the door. Maybe he was just looking for comfort, or even something familiar but she was a woman and he was a very strong and (oh lord) handsome guy. Her reaction was normal, right? The pressure that had been residing in her heart now moved south and spread a heat through her limbs.

"Who am I?" He pleaded, the heat of his breath jumbling her thoughts.

"Whoever you want to be now. Anyone." She whispered fiercely. She meant it. He wasn't some puppet anymore. This man who had shown tenacious soldier skill had also convinced her of his humanity. He was not evil. He was not the villain.

"I remember things. About him… um, me. I know things but…" He choked out, tensing as if he intended to run again and that was something she absolutely could not let happen.

"Shhhh, hun. Let's not worry about that just yet." She hummed soothingly. Once she could figure this out herself, then she'd have a better grip to help him. Right, and having his body so close to hers was not the only incentive to keep him standing there.

He pulled his head back, but kept his arms around her. She could still barley see but she could make out his eyes. His stunning blue eyes looking down at her in pain and wonder. He had removed the cap, causing little tendrils that hadn't fit into the band to fall across his brow. He looked dangerous. She really needed to keep reminding herself that.

"Why?" He asked quietly. It was a simple question. One she could have assumed was about her previous statement but she saw the truth behind it. He was asking why was she… the way she was. Why not only help him willingly but why comfort him.

She could only shrug, not willing to let him see all of her own hurts and reasoning's. Not until she figured them out herself. Sasha knew this was not a situation she needed to be in. She really should untangle herself and leave this den of misery behind.

But then she felt his warm hand leave her back and cup her face. Instinct drove her to close her eyes and breathe in deeply. Strange when her previous instincts had been to flinch and fight.

Softer than a pure cotton, she felt his lips caress hers. It was innocent, gentle and purely fucking insane. But good god, did it send knots spiraling to her gut. She leaned into him, enjoying the jolt of surprise that vibrated through his body. And just like that, they were fire.

His other hand cupped her face, effectively holding her face prisoner. She in turn, grasped handfuls of his sweater pulling him flush against her body. She sensed the change in him, from confusion to passion and she really couldn't (didn't even try) to remember why she shouldn't be doing this.

He kissed her hard, and with the kind of experience she knew lay hidden beneath layers of memory loss. Thank god, because she was by no means a pro and she'd hate to be the one teaching him the ropes.

The thought brought her back to the present. Not that she wanted to be here, but Sasha knew now was not the place. Whatever this was, shouldn't really be happening at all.  _Jesus, get your shit together!_

Thankfully, before she even had a chance of interjecting (or not because god damn, he was a good kisser) she felt the door handle jiggle behind her back. Her gasp alerted Bucky, who whipped her behind him. A loud bang resounded, and she realized the door was locked. Wonder who did that… the sneaky bastard.

"Come on lovebirds. This aint the place for a romp." Yelled a muffled voice, though aged, Sasha knew the owner held some authority.

"Come on, James. Let's get home." She whispered quickly, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the door they had originally came from.

The fled in silence, her sneakers the only sound bouncing off the walls as she jogged lightly back to the bus station, knowing Bucky wasn't far behind. Her heart was racing, from the flight or the kiss, she didn't look too deeply. All she knew was that things just got a little more complicated in an already fucked up situation.

What was worse, was that tomorrow was the day.

The day she went back to work to at Stark towers.

* * *

 

I know this one was short and not very full of anything important but I had too. For reasons. any who, I was asked if bi-racial couples were still seen negatively. Yes. Yes they are. I live in Detroit. If you don't know about it, google it. Let me tell you, I've been in a bi-racial relationship and it was EVERYDAY occurrence when someone from either race would sneer, comment, and/or degrade us both. racism is alive and can lead to physical violence.

Understand that there is a reason I write Tasha the way I do. She is kind and caring but had been jaded and roughened by a lifetime of this. She had her brother, who was white and disabled. She is mixed, not belonging in either world or races. Not accepted by either. All she knows is how to fight and how to love. It's not that hard of a concept even though I wish it were different.

Ok so... reviews are always always welcome. If you ask a question, I will do my best to answer and explain. Theres a distinct reason for everything I write. Okie dokie loves.

-moonandwinter


	15. Mission not so accomplpished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And her day started like shit. So why not?

The pounding in his head was too much. He could not speak, let alone move, as the bus had taken them far away from the museum. There had been too much, his mind flooded with painful memories of falling. Of war. Of a time he was a part of.

None of it made sense and he knew there was so much more but from what he saw… Oh god _the pain._

Sasha had taken him back to her apartment, not saying a single word. He had taken liberties that were not his to have but back there in the dark dusty room he had needed the calm, the peace only she could grant him. But this time, he felt a fire. A burn deep inside of him screaming at him to claim her. To take and have and hide her away. It was primal. He knew that, but it was at least a feeling stronger than the agony of his brain trying to remember.

He sat now on Sasha’s old couch. The brown fabric soft and worn. To his left, he could hear her cooking, pans and water and all sorts of noises wafted through down into the divided living space. If he looked, he’d be able to see her as she danced around the small kitchen.

He did not look. He merely stared ahead, eyes unseeing. He had kissed her roughly and now she was silent to him. Maybe he couldn’t be around people anymore. Maybe the violence was too ingrained for him to change.

He would have thought more on the matter if the pounding agony hadn’t returned. He closed his eyes, rubbing his palms against them in hopes of relieving the pressure but it only seemed to build. A memory, a beautiful woman in red danced with him, her smile radiant. He had kissed her too. He had been in uniform. She smelled of roses. Steve was there, but smaller? The pictured washed away like being dropped in water.

He was groaning loudly as the memory stopped. How had he gotten to the floor?

 _Fuck, his head!_ It was going to split in two. He needed to freeze, to forget because this sharp shrill piercing pain was too much.

But then there was her voice. Calm. Soothing. She was humming and he fought his way through the fog to find her.

“Deep breath. Come on, hun. This’ll pass.” Sasha cooed. He felt her arms around him, realizing she had kicked the coffee table out of the way to sit behind him and cradle his hunched body. One of her palms rested on his heart and he concentrated on her touch. On all of her.

The pain in his eyes lessened after many minutes. He could feel his body begin to shake, small tremors reminding him of his weakness. But he did not mind showing her any longer. Not after everything.

“Hey now, you’ve got to stop scaring me like that ok?” She said softly, her voice so close to his ear. He felt her chest heave slightly against his back.

“Memory.” He replied coarsely. His eyes began to adjust to the rom around him but still he concentrated on her.

“Figured.” She whispered. The weight of her head as it came to rest on his shoulder was more pleasant than it should have been considering what he had just been thinking. “I’m sorry for taking you there. And for… my behavior.”

Her behavior?!

These seemingly normal emotions seemed to escape him because he simply could not figure out why she was not only assisting him in his recovery of his memory but why she insisted on feeling guilt for his actions.

She helped him to stand, the violence of the memory still ringing in his head.

"My fault." He managed between clenched teeth. It was hard to think but harder still to speak.

"Doesn't matter. Shouldn't happen again." He heard her whisper though sure that he wasn't supposed to. Did she find his touch so repulsive? It wouldn't surprise him. He was a complication in her life, not to mention a killer.

He let the conversation die as he adjusted against the couch. He sensed her every move, knew when she rubbed her face in frustration. She had retreated back to the kitchen and he couldn’t say he was grateful. His mind was clear when she was near him. When he could listen to her.

She brought a plate to him and they ate with only the mindless program playing on the TV as noise.

The night proceeded in awkward silence as she busied around the small apartment. He did not look anywhere except the wall, watched as the pattern in the paper began to merge and shift as his mind tried to mend itself.

And then, too quickly, he was asleep. Dreams of ice and pain flashed before him, metal and guns. He groaned as he pulled the trigger aiming for an unknown target. But then the dream shifted, a kind face, warm caramel eyes. A deep laugh.

He smelled vanilla before the dream disappeared into nothingness and he slept soundly.

*~*~*

Sasha felt the sleep wear off in layers. She refused to reach for her phone as the alarm rang knowing that if she did she'd never get up. After a night of tossing and turning, of seriously insane thoughts about a certain dark haired assassin and the perverted things she wanted to do to him, her body was aching. Ugh.

Her heart was even more confused than her head and she didn't think she could handle too much more of this whiplash. One minute she wants to be cold to him, to help him with his memory and be done with it and the next she wants to... well do things she'd never done with any one before.

 _Ok. Let's change this thought line right now_ , she admonished.

She started her day as she often did. Lots of incoherent grumbling, large pot of coffee, much too hot shower, and a quick stretch in the living room. She usually skipped this last part; most of the time already late for the bus but today she was making good time, aware she had a guest slumbering on her couch.

Conscious of his even breathing she began to do the few yoga positions she knew. Fuck, she was out of practice. Her joints popped and she was light headed before she started her third try.

Enough of that. Should head to the gym after work.

She changed quickly into her work clothes, a comfy pair of slacks and a Stark blouse. It was cheesy and a little flirty but that's what the man picked out so she'd wear it.

Grabbing some cash and her keys she started for the door when she felt the sudden grip of a metal hand around her arm. He was gentle but assertive.

"I thought you were still sleeping." She said over get shoulder. After yesterday she wasn't sure how to proceed.

"I woke when you did." Was all he said in that quiet way of his.

Oh great. So he saw her failed attempt at stretching. Awesome.

She turned to face him, her arms coming up defensively, though she didn't quite know why. He released her quickly and mimicked her position. It would have funny had it not been for the seriousness in his blue gaze.

"Right. Well, I've got to go to work." She grumbled looking away.

"You cannot mention me to anyone." He commanded. The soldier once again. It made her angry though later she'd admit she was reaching for an outlet.

"I know! I'm not stupid. It's not like I even have friends to talk to." She spit out harshly. The shock and confusion that wrinkled his face brought her back down. She didn't want to take it out on him. Not like this...

"Sorry, Bucky. I didn't get good sleep. What do you need?" She offered, narrowly stopping herself from rubbing her face. She really didn't need smudged makeup to match the rings under her eyes.

He scanned her face, finding something there that made him nod. His idea of personal space, however was what was bugging her. He still stood maybe a foot away. A foot too close. Or too far. GodDAMINT SASHA STOP.

“A route to Starks security elevator. It is the only one I can tell that takes employees to the labs within the tower.” He spoke with certainty, the rumble in his voice that was often uncertain was now strong and clear. This was what she was here for after all. To get information for him. That’s it. She was a tool. She just had to remember that while controlling her outrageous hormones. Right.

“Got it. I think I can manage that. I get off at 5. You probably knew that though.” She paused, looking at his rumbled state. “Take a shower. I have clothes that’ll fit you in my bottom drawer. They are my lazy way too big comfy clothes but they are clean. Take a shower. Eat anything you want. Just… Relax Bucky. I’ll get you what you need.”

She didn’t wait for a reply as she turned and exited. She felt her heart race as if she just stared down the barrel of a gun. But no, that’s not quite right no matter how fitting. She even wanted to say it was because there was a mental image of him showering floating through her brain. But that wasn’t it either.

What she was not willing to admit was that she was feeling a connection with this man. And connections were dangerous. He was dangerous. This whole fucked up situation was so fucking dangerous. The entire ride to work, as the bus lumbered towards her mission, there was a single thought ringing through her dark, braided head.

Too deep. She is in too deep.

Later she’d realize it was just the beginning.

For now, as she swiped her clearance card, she forced her brain to think only of work. And every few minutes to wonder if Bucky was in the shower.

Her job was mindless really. Scrub this, polish that. She made sure to always keep her head down, to never look directly at anyone. People felt uncomfortable when the help made eye contact. She busted her ass though, working a little harder than usual in order to keep her brain clear.

She had just finished her section on the lower eastside lounge areas, all of which were closed off to the public on the weekends, when four suits came bustling in. Her first instinct was to tell them to get the fuck out, but upon closer inspection, she saw they were packing heat.

Not to mention their “Stark Security” badges, big and clear on their breast. Ah fuck.

Thankfully they avoided her as much as she did them, waltzing over to the (unnecessarily) huge coffee bar.

Really? They had to use this one? Not the forty others that were spread throughout the towers? Fucking asshats.

“I dunno man. Working for Stark seems a hell of a lot better than Fury but security? That’s a load.” Said one large, clearly obnoxious suit.

The lady suit hissed something about “the cleaning lady” and the douche suit looked over to see Sasha, emptying a small garbage, trying her best to ignore them.

“She probably doesn’t speak English. Doesn’t matter.” Douche suit laughed at his own… joke. If it could be called one. She felt the knot in her stomach twist but remained glued to her job. No big deal. She deals with this every day.

“Still man. After that whole Hydra thing, Stark wants us playing it close to the vest.” Said not so douche suit number two.

King douche laughed again, spilling his fresh coffee on the floor. That she had just mopped.

“Seriously? First off, she’s a fucking janitor. Secondly, like Hydra would want someone like her.”

Oh well, that was just not the right thing to say.

“Excuse me, fuckface?” She barked, garbage pail thudding to the floor.

The three suits all shook their heads, clearly disappointed in their friends idocrocy. Looks like he had a death wish too as he stepped forward.

“Hey sugar. Didn’t mean anything by it. Just forget about this and you won’t lose your job.” He smiled though to her it was a big fat sneer.

There was something ringing in the back of her mind, something trying to tell her not to do this. That she had another mission. But oh boy, his face. She wanted to rearrange it so...


	16. The big man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Sash. Your temper.

 

 

She felt rage unlike anything she had known before. It boiled her, made the tight skin over her knuckles itch to hit. To tear the smirk off his vicious faces. Logic was lost then as she advanced on the piece of shit who dared raise his nose to her.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh was almost as satisfying as the sharp burn of her fist after the first contact. The SHEILD agent barely registered what happened, when she gave him her signature upper cut. Right in the kisser, as Boney would have proudly said.

The bloody and unconscious agent lay sprawled out onto the marble floor. She barely had a second of pride before she heard screaming. The other black clad suits were yelling at her, their guns raised.

Aw, fuck.

Suddenly, before she could even think about running a loud but polished voice sounded overhead. British?

"Mr. Stark requests you to bring the young lady up to level 42. He insists you do not... piss her off further."

Um... ok? This was not good. Shit shit shit. Her temper once again proving why she couldn't hold a fucking job.

"Come with us now and we won't hurt you." Said the snarky bitch, her face flushed red with embarrassment and anger.

"How about I put you down too and then I'll go." Sasha spat out, her adrenaline still thrumming through her veins.

"Ms. Hope, Mr. Stark insists you do no more damage to the agents." Said the creepy voice coming from nowhere. Although she was stunned he (it?) knew her name, she shrugged, glad whoever was watching knew she was the threat here. After she got into the security elevator (so that's where it was. Oops) with the two remaining agents, the third having lifted his buddy out to the infirmary, she found herself no longer grateful. Jesus, she was stupid.

What if they searched her place, found Bucky? Oh boy. She done messed up.

After a short but tense ride up, Sasha found herself shaking slightly. She was a strong woman though, and refused to cower. As soon as the doors slid silently open, she pushed herself through and walked right in with all the confidence of Monroe.

The room was huge, a pillar in the middle, a bar, and a lounge area were all stunning. Standing a few feet away was the man. THE man. Tony fucking Stark, drink in hand. The smirk on his perfectly trimmed face making her fiercely concerned.

"Agents, you can go. I'd like to have a word." He commanded, his authority clear under the lazy way he spoke.

"Sir, she assaulted an agent. We can't-"

"Ah ah. You are my employees now. I say so. Plus, that guy was being a total prick." He admonished, waving his glass around.

The agents stood awkwardly for a second before retreating to the elevator. She (barely) suppressed the urge to look back and blow a kiss to that snarky bitch. Oh the temptation.

"Have a sit, Hope. Like a drink?" He offered. His eyes did a once over but it wasn't leery. It was calculating. That was even stranger.

She sat heavily in one of the stools, relaxing into the soft leather. If she was in tight corner, it seemed her reaction was to find the nearest seat.

"So, Million Dollar Baby. Care to explain why you knocked out one of my men?" He asked happily while pouring her a healthy glass of amber liquid. She didn't really care what it was at this point. Her mind kept returning to Bucky and her fear for him being caught.

Taking a large swig from the offered glass she steeled her nerves. If she was going to face off with Stark she'd need her courage.

"You said it nicely yourself." She replied with the raise of one brow. He mimicked it in surprise.

"Two hit knock out. That's pretty impressive." He commented smoothly, his own glass refilled and raised. But it wasn't so much a compliment, but a question of her character.

"Trained boxer." She said simply, b watching the way his gaze drifted across her face. After a moments pause, she added a crooning "sir."

He took in that information quickly, nodding as he put down his glass to replace it with his phone. He typed for a few seconds more than Sasha felt comfortable. She felt the need to fill the quiet.

"How did you know my name? When I walked in just now and before." She asked awkwardly, suddenly feeling the loss of her courage in the face of his indifference.

"Had all employees face scanned. JARVIS told me." He mumbled, and Sasha realized he was only half paying attention. "Ah, here we are. Sasha Hope, 25. Stark employee for four months." He looked at her like a father disappointed in his child. "That's not long at all."

He started to pace, eyes stuck to that fucking phone that seemed to hold all of her information. She despised it.

"Look man. If you are going to fire me, then cool. I'll go." She barked out. Fear for Bucky and anxiety making her more rash as she stood, intent on storming out.

He didn't give the chance.

"Mark Hope. Foster brother, roommate, and member of S.H.E.I.L.D. computer tech team." The words hung in the air, much too close to an accusation for her liking. She felt the anger again but forced its bitter taste down as she turned and glared at the smart-ass smirking at her like he just won a prize.

"Don't you dare say his name. He was my brother. He was a good fucking man." She said through clenched teeth. But Starks face changed to confusion as he glanced back to his phone. She saw the moment of realization hit him.

"Deceased." He mumbled, fingers flicking through pages of information.

"Wow. You ARE a genius." The venom dripped from her voice and she stood defensively, arms crossed.

He looked up to her, eyes scrutinizing. Then he smiled brilliantly, the same grin he shinned for the media. She assumed it was supposed to be charming.

"So this was all just a case of douche bag meets a good old fashion KO?" He chuckled, strutting back to his drink.

"Well duh. What did you think I was doing?" She grumbled, not quite happy with the lack of information on her end. This whole situation was too confusing and she was nearly out of brain cells for the day having burned out on adrenaline.

"The folks that attacked your brothers work? There's still some out there. I've got to be sure you weren't one of them." The playboy said smoothly, though his eyes bore into hers.

She stood shocked, mouth opened and more livid than she could remember ever being.

"Seriously?" She screeched, not even ashamed at the break in her voice. "After they fucking killed Mark and hurt Bu-" Oh shit, think fast. "Butt loads of people? And you think because I planted that asshole to the ground that I'm one of them!?" The edges of her sanity were being stretched thin as the anger burned.

Jesus, and she almost gave away Bucky’s secret. She prayed Stark hadn’t noticed the slip but he was looking behind her now. With a sinking pain in her gut, she slowly turned around.

Standing behind her was the incredibly tall, absolutely gorgeous, and seriously dangerous Captain America himself.

"Um..." She managed dumbly.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to hear about your brother. We are really just trying to figure out who's on our side." Though formal, he spoke honestly. There was a trace of old New York accent under the words, reminding her of Bucky. His chiseled jaw was tight with worry and she saw dark circles under his eyes.

Looks like he wasn't sleeping either.

"How do I even know you are the good guys?" She whispered, more to herself. The thoughts of Bucky quieted the rage that had burned just a moment ago.

 This was too surreal. Stark came to stand next to the Captain and although there was a height difference they both exuded pure power.

"Ok, Ms. Hope. You're free to go. I expect the next time you come to work, you at least attempt not to hit my agents." He said sternly, though by the smile in his voice she could tell he was only half honest.

“Only if they don’t lay down racist bull-shit.” The adrenaline rush was seeping away quickly and she needed to get out before her knees gave way.

“Deal.” Stark quipped, opening the tall glass door for her.

 

After she quickly and quietly fled to the elevator, Stark turned to the other man, his hand placed on the blond’s shoulder.

"I think we are grasping at straws here buddy." He said solemnly. Tony Stark was rarely anything but selfish but he had watched Steve crumble slowly these last weeks and despite his general distaste for anything patriotic, he really liked this dude.

"I'm just looking for a lead." The Cap replied stiffly. Tony heard the hopelessness in it and decided what better way to help the old man then to take him out, if only for a work errand.

"Come on, grandpa. I was going to send a car to the airport to pick up Jane and her assistant but I think we need to get some air."

 

* * *

 

P.s. working on another avenger fic. Can you guess which couple?!


	17. Bucky 's day off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What to with your time.

 

He watched her leave, feeling the need to follow. But she had her mission and he had his. It took him several minutes to convince his body to relax enough to walk stiffly to the fridge. He had barely suppressed the urge to take her hand and pull her to him. But she had been clear last night. She had been right.

 Their… attraction, was only a distraction. He needed information, needed his memory back with a fierce desperation. She was his way in. That was all.

 But he knew better than that. Somehow Sasha had become his light at the end of the tunnel, a phrase he learned from the mindless T.V. she insisted on playing to fill the silence. This woman had attached herself to him without knowing it and he knew the danger of it.

 Having her helping him and being caught was one thing. Having emotional ties to her and having her caught was an entirely different issue. It might very well be too late.

 He ate the left-overs, spaghetti with red sauce. She had written his name on it and a set of instructions. Even this simple thing had his heart ache in ways he couldn't understand.

 She was caring, strong, and intelligent. But these things paled in comparison to her bitter anger, the sadness that could be seen when she thought he wasn't looking. The way her shoulders slumped when she glanced at the spare room. All of this and she still managed to smile; to laugh sincerely and to soldier on in spite of the pain she carried close to her heart.

 That is what he admired. It was driving away the pain from the memories but he wasn't sure if such attachment was any better. No, it certainly wasn't.

 Deciding it was better to begin a task to free his mind, he decided to shower. The shirt had three days worth of grime and the pants? Those were as good as garbage.

 He tossed the clothes aside and started the water. An action that took him several more minutes as he was slightly confused by the dials. He wondered how long it would take for him to fully assimilate to the world. Hopefully soon. He did not like feeling helpless. Not like he hadn't been before, but now he had thoughts. Freedom. Choices.

 Sighing, he looked into the mirror opposite of the now running shower. He tilted his face, seeing the shadows under his eyes. They were less dramatic now that he's been sleeping hours at a time.

 His facial hair was getting long and itchy. Something about it not quite fitting his face. He grabbed the scissors from the counter that was awash with beauty products and sprays. Sasha kept the space cluttered but he did not mind so much.

After he trimmed as best as he could, he looked at his hair. It was long, its straight dark strands lay against his face. He thought about cutting that too, but knew that he was not nearly as capable of that as he was trimming his face. Besides, he was pretty sure Sasha liked it.

 But that didn't matter, did it? Of course it did. Along with the strange comfort she brought to his chaotic mind, she had started a fire in his stomach. He knew it was lust or something like it. He knew the human instinct of physical attraction and he felt it every second he was in her presence. Like a moth to a flame.

 In terms of female company, the soldier had never cared for. He saw man and woman as the same. Targets or allies. Gender played no part. He wasn't allowed to feel attachment or attraction. But he had felt the heat the moment he first laid eyes on her.

 Grunting in frustration he entered the shower. The water was warm, not quite hot, but it was still so relaxing.

 He felt the pleasure ripple through his body as he sunk to the ground. The ceramic walls of the tub making it hard for him to sit, but he managed by tucking his legs under his body. The position was completely vulnerable to attack but in this moment he did not care. He reached behind him and turned the water up, groaning as the spray started to pound heavily and hotly on his strained skin.

 He lowered his head into his hands and let him mind go blank. He concentrated on his breathing, feeling his skin turn red. Not caring.

 A memory started to tease the edges of his brain and he tensed, ready for the pain, but there was none.

 He had been sitting in a bar, old and smoky. Dimmed lights and clatter of cups and dishes. Steve was next to him, tall and in uniform. Not the Captain America one, but rather legitimate army uniform.

 He was with him. They joked, words incoherent, until Steve turned to him, eyes serious.

 "What do you want to do when this is all over?" He had asked.

 The memory was long but since there was no pain, Bucky decided to just let it flow. To try and remember.

 "I don't know, champ. Think I might find me a girl. Settle down." Old Bucky had replied. He watched as the eerie scene began to fade.

 Steve laughed, the smell of cigar tingled his brain.

 "Me too. Though I've got my eye on one." He replied, his eyes gone all moony. He remembered feeling happy for his friend. After the life he had, he deserved love.

And then the memory stopped, the ringing of soft laughter echoing in his mind. There was no pain, no throbbing agony this time.

 But now there was confusion. He had been friends with this man. Would he still remember that friendship? And how had Steve survived 70 years and not have aged a day? Zola? Had he worked on the captain too?

 Now the beginnings of a headache began and he realized he had pushed his brain too far by trying to analyze the information too soon. He stood, concentrating on cleaning himself, following the directions on several bottles he found along the edges of the tub.

 He smelled of her when he was done, though he couldn't say he minded. He walked to her room and discovered the clothes she had mentioned. They were tight, but clean; the sweatpants a little more lose than the t-shirt. It felt strange. It felt… nice.

 After managing his hair into one of the stretchy bands Sasha kept on the counter, he went to the living room and sat, his hands flat against his legs.

 What was he to do now? Waiting was… not something he enjoyed. Pacing the room, he went to the tall shelf that carried a few dozen slim plastic cases. Movies, he thought.

There wasn't much dust on the shelf but he could tell which ones had been removed more often than others. One had been watched recently.

Queen of the Damned.

Curious, he picked it up, deciding to put it on as background noise. He knew how to work the machine, which frustrated him. He could turn on a dvd player but a shower took him ten minutes? Fuck.

The movie began. He was, from the very first scene, drawn in. The story wove with truths from his own life. Things he felt, the creature had too. He knew it was fiction, but it was so very close to him.

Sasha was beginning to make a little more sense.

He was enthralled and by the end of the film, he realized he enjoyed this. Watching the stories of others. He walked back to the shelf and selected another one.

The Fifth Element.

He had just finished this one, literally sitting on the edge of the couch, watching as the two lovers embraced as they lay inside a glass tube. He felt his face flush, a memory of her Sasha flash before his eyes.

The key jingled in the knob, a small sound he heard. He jumped up as he watched he storm in, her body tense and face determined. His heart was still racing. He had to be careful to not get too close to her. If he did, he might not be able to control the urges that were currently assaulting his ravaged brain.

She held the bottle to her lips and he saw the blood on her knuckles. Rage, red and furious blinded his other thoughts. Someone had attacked her. She was bleeding. He wanted to kill.

 


	18. Animal Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When stress is high and he's there, waiting. Big 'ol blues staring. What's a girl to do?

She stormed in her apartment, tossing her purse on the table heavily and going straight for the freezer. She kept a bottle of emergency rum in there and oh boy did she need a drink. Bucky was next to her in an instant but she didn't care. She cracked open the seal and took a long pull proud that she didn't cough until she had swallowed two gulps.

 "Sasha?" He asked tensely, though she heard the concern.

 "Bad day." She replied gruffly. To be honest it actually went better then she could have hoped. She still had a job. At least no one was suspicious of her anymore... She hoped. She had felt such pure relief that Bucky was safe that she hadn’t stopped to examine why.

 His metal hand reached out quickly and grabbed her sore, raw hand. She winced as he ran a cold finger over the flesh. Thankfully she hadn't split the skin, but there was still some blood smeared on one knuckle. Gross.

 "What happened?" He demanded, no longer hiding the concern.

 She sighed knowing he wouldn’t just let this go. "Some asshat said something horrible. I just... lost it." She mumbled around the mouth of the bottle, quickly taking another long drag. The burn made her eyes water but she didn't care.  

 A warm hand took the bottle from her and turned her body.  She stood in the circle of his arms and all thoughts off asshats evaporated. She could have gotten him caught today with her stupid behavior. Who knows what they would have done to him. Would they even give him a chance to explain? Would they even care?

 "Did he hurt you?" The dark haired man said through clenched teeth. She could feel the danger coming of him in waves and it was intoxicating. She looked at him, clean and fed. No longer so pale. No longer in constant pain. When did Bucky become the face she wanted to see? When had she started to care about how he looked? She was just supposed to help with his memory, right?

 She could only shake her head at his question, not risking herself to speak. Sasha felt him relax, even if it was only minuscule. She had promised herself she would not get too deep. She had sworn to not let her heart out of the little locked box she put it in.

 But right now, in this one moment she knew she had fucked that up a while ago. From the very first kiss. From the moment he proved himself not to be a violent mindless killer. She felt her heart give way.

 He must have realized their proximity as he moved to pull away. But Sasha was done.  She was completely, absolutely, bitterly done with denying herself. Them both.

 "Bucky?" It was a question, a plea.

 His hands hovered less than an inch from the thin fabric of her work shirt. His blue eyes confused and hungry. The mix driving her insane.

 So, like her whole life exemplified, she took matters into her own hands. Literally.  She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled that rugged face down to hers. Sasha kissed him with all of her pent up passion, holding nothing back as she slanted her mouth over his.  

 And he was kissing her back, dear god. His mouth hard and hot as he walked her back into her counter. His body pressed tightly against her as she clung to him.

 She had been so afraid for him. So angry at the suits. And then having Stark accuse her of being in league with Hydra, all she knew was that this man had found his way in and she wasn’t about to let them get him.

 Her fingers were now entwined in his long hair, pulling him fiercely down. She wanted more. All of him, and she'd stop at nothing to get it.  

 She moaned hungrily as his fingers dug into her hips. The sound that tore from his throat when she ground into him was utterly primal and it only intensified her need. Something she'd long since denied herself. With skill she didn't know she had she pulled her confining top up and off leaving her with just a bra on. But it wasn't enough. She wanted contact. 

 "Shirt. Off." She gasped against his mouth, his stubble making her skin chafe in the most pleasant way. 

 Like the most Erotic soldier ever, he obeyed by tearing the shirt off with his metal hand. 

 Unnfff. 

 His lips were back on her but now their skin slid together, hot and solid.  God, why had she not done this sooner? 

 Although she really  _really_ wanted to, and she will definitely in the future, she did not want to do this on the counter in her kitchen. She could do a lot more in her room. 

 Pushing his face away, enjoying the panted whimper that escaped him she grabbed hold of his belt. No words were said as she pulled him to her room and proceeded where she left off. The belt. Then the pants. Of course he didn’t wear anything underneath. Commando. Hold the wheel, Jesus, cause she’d about to sin.

 She wanted to look, to enjoy all of the pure sinfully sexy man but he was just as fast and needy as she was. His skill surprised her, but she knew now that something’s were buried deep in him. Apparently, like getting a girl naked and hot.

 He spun her around, her back to his chest as he worked free the button and zipper of her slacks. She ground back and enjoyed the guttural growl that vibrated through him. She helped him along, wiggling her pants off less gracefully than intended. 

 He started to have trouble with her bra and her frustration grew from the lack of contact. Jesus they were so close!  

 "Just tear it!" She begged, her voice gone completely hoarse. 

 And oh he did. The shred of fabric, the kiss of air, and the tingle of a metal fingertip. That was it.

 She turned in his arms and gave no more thought.  He mumbled in Russian, muscles tight against her. His tongue slid into her mouth, hot and sweet. She moaned with pleasure at the invasion and repaid the favor. Her hands running hungrily down his abdomen, his skin rippled beneath her. 

 Before she could do any more (and she really wanted to do so much more), she was on her back, the bed soft under her. She looked up, saw his face flushed with passion. His eyes clear as day, shown with lust... and something else. 

 "Bucky?" She whimpered because... well because she really didn't want to stop to think least it ruin this good thing. 

 He just looked at her, his dark hair completely loosened from the band. It fell over his bent face like a cover but she could still see him. Tenderly she raised a hand and cupped his face, relieved when he leaned into the palm. 

 "I don't want to hurt you." He grunted, his legs trembling from holding himself off her. A fact she hated at this very moment. 

 "Stop that right now, James. You are not going to hurt me. I will however hurt you," She moaned, lifting her hips I'm search of him. "If you don't..."

 His eyes burned and she tried to ignore the sinful glint in his eyes then. He took in her words and a small, cocky smile spread across his face. He must be what sin looks like. Something in her told her this was what he must have looked like. Back before everything. The idea that she could do this made her resolve stiffen.

 "If I don't… what?" He whispered, leaning down to kiss the spot beneath her ear. And still the asshole kept his body off of hers.

 "I'm. Going. To. Kill. You." She bit out between gasping pants. Skill. Mad skills. He must hav been a real player.

 "Can't." He managed, his mouth on her pulse. The wet heat went straight to her core, making her (if even possible) more wet. 

 Fine. Two can play... yada yada. She caught his ear in her mouth and sucked. His stomach jerked and she felt the teeniest bit of his erection dance across her belly. A feather light touch that set her on fire, made her groan.

 She moved quickly while he was stunned, shoving her hand down and around his pulsing member. Though it made her blush, she stroked him. The resulting primal growl that rumbled so deep in his body that she felt it, was so very satisfying. 

 "I want you to," She paused making sure his blazing blue gaze was on her face before continuing.  "To fuck me stupid. Possibly multiple times."

 She had barely finished the sentence when he pulled her hands above her head and thrust. Hard.

 She cried out, flinging her head back. Her hips raised to offer him more room but there didn't seem she had any room to spare. He filled her completely, fire burning her in ways it had never before. Her body clenched around him, holding the solid heat deep inside her. When she managed to open her eyes, she saw his pained face.

 He stared at her, his raw mouth open, lids lowered slightly and brows knit.

 He seemed to be waiting. The stupid man. She smiled and pulled his face down to kiss that concern away. 

 He began to move, the rhythm long ago ingrained in human DNA. Her curvy legs lifted and wrapped around his trim waist. Each thrust bringing forth a sound so animalistic she didn't know was possible for her to make. Again he whispered Russian but this time... it sounded like praise. Like gentle sweet words.  So she pretended they were and fell into the sensations. His steel hand grazed her breast, heat and cold bringing the bud to an almost painful peak. Jesus, he was good even if he didn't know it. 

 But there was time for that later.  Right now she felt the need building. Her legs began to quiver as she whimpered into his collar. So close.

 Fast, he was moving faster either sensing her need or trying to find his own release, it didn't even matter. The sound of their skin, of the bed creaking with each violent plunge making her crazy with desire.

 "Oh fuck." She gasped, his hands gripping her ass hard enough to bruise. His forehead pressed solidly against hers as her felt her world come apart. So deep. So hard. So good.

 She cried his name, her nails raking down his back, trying to pull him in closer.  Her arms and legs flushed with heat, her stomach knotted as her orgasm rocked her body. 

 She heard him grunt her name, the guttural sound more erotic than it should have been as he leaned back, his torso shiny with sweat. He came hard, his hips punishing hers in their battle for contact. 

 When their breathing slowed and her knees didn't feel so much like jello, they managed to roll under the covers. Her face lay softly on his chest, her hand tracing scars that crisscrossed his shoulders.

 The day with all of its stresses and all of its pleasures seemed too much for Sasha’s brain to handle as she quickly fell asleep next to her soldier.

 This was how she fell asleep; sated, happy, and oblivious to what exactly she had done and what it meant.


	19. Open Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after is enlightening.

He slowly came awake, a warm breath steadily caressing his bare chest. He realized his left arm was tucked beneath a cloud of soft wavy hair, his metal hand lay flush against a soft breast. 

And he remembered all that transpired the night before. Her body quaking beneath him, his mind blank of everything but her. He had rushed, the pure sensation of her skin, her heat, had driven him to an urgency unlike anything he knew. Now, as the sun peaked in through the heavily curtained window, he wondered exactly what had happened. Or rather, why.

Sasha groaned softly and pressed into him further, settling her hand on his lower abdomen.  His stomach rippled from her touch making him aware of his own body. He was sore, but not unpleasantly. He felt thin scratch marks on his back and he remembered her fingers raking him. She was as fierce in this as she was in life.  

The thought made him smile. 

He was actually grinning? A warm emotion growing inside his chest. This was not something the soldier would do. But Bucky would. 

He felt her come awake slowly, her foot wiggling, her breathing losing its evenness. He could not predict how she was going to react knowing her own confused feelings was something she struggled with. 

He felt her begin to stretch, her body curling into him. And then she froze. The moment she realized it was him who lay next to her. He stared at the ceiling, body tense. His heart pounded loudly though he couldn't pinpoint why. Nervousness was the most logical.

"G'mornin?" She mumbled, her hand still lay on his stomach. 

 He knew she expected him to speak, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say, unaccustomed to all of this.

 “You OK there, Buck?" She asked softly though he could hear the tremble in her voice. She was also nervous. 

He looked to her, to judge her features for some sign of what to do next. She was looking at him under heavy lids, her teeth nibbling her bottom lip. 

"Tell me what you are thinking so I can react accordingly." She huffed, her cheeks coloring. He examined her eyes, large warm brown orbs with specks of gold. He never cared for eyes, unless it was to determine the correct target, but here in the warm comfort of her bed he wanted to capture that color. 

Finally, he smiled. Just one corner of his mouth rose, and he enjoyed the little pop as her teeth released the swollen lip.

"I've never felt more... real." He rumbled. His voice having become husky. 

"Real?" She laughed, laying her face down hiding those stunning eyes. 

"I do not know how to explain."

"I'm going to laugh if all you needed was a good lay." He felt her smile. 

"No. Just you." He said solemnly. He knew that his attachment to her was dangerous. She was now a liability, a responsibility.  But he could not bring himself to regret any of it. Not after all she had done for him. 

"How did you know how to... do any of that?" She asked clearly ignoring his statement. He knew she would not face her own emotions with him so close. She wouldn't be Sasha if she had. 

He tried to recall where the knowledge came from, but couldn't say. He shrugged, the movement reminding him that his hand still cupped the underside of her breast. 

The reaction was instant. He felt his heart thrumming once more as her own hand flexed. But then she sighed heavily and untangled herself from him and quickly retreated to the bathroom down the hall. He watched her exit, hating that the heat and comfort was gone but he couldn't say he minded the view. Her well rounded bottom swayed as she stretched her arms disappearing through her door. 

He thought that she was regretting the night and decided that it was best he exist the room quietly. He tossed his legs over the edge of the bed, conscious of his exposed and... engorged state. This reaction was new to him though he knew it was normal for men to feel such a desire. 

But he doubted any man had been in his position.

He mimicked her action of discomfort, rubbing his face with his hands. Whatever he was thinking disappeared in an instant when warm hands cupped his face pulling him from the slouched position. She stood before him, gloriously naked. Her skin glowed softly, her toned waist expanding to rounded hips. He looked at all of her soaking in every detail telling himself he wasn't sure when the next time he'd see her like this. 

Finally he met her eyes, large and bashful. He looked at her questioningly.

She tilted her head, a crease forming between her brows.

"James Bucky Barnes. I'm not done with you. Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?" She whispered, running her thumb across his lip. He groaned from the contact but held himself still. 

She, however, moved closer settling between his open legs. Her thighs rubbing against his. He growled, hands flinching. But still he did not move. He would let her dictate this. He was at her mercy.

"I've probably lost my fucking mind." She smiled, leaning to press her lips to the burning flesh of his neck. "I told myself I couldn't be involved like this but I think from the very start it was a lost cause." She mumbled between kisses. He felt each one rock him, every feather light touch clearing away any thought but the sensation of her.

"And sweetie, if you don't want this I'm afraid you'll have to beat me off with a stick."

He found her eyes burning, and all he could do was mindlessly lift her and drop her squarely on his lap. Her hips jerked as the tip of his painful erection slid across her slick center. 

"How does a hundred year old geezer with no memory have more skill then all of New York's male population?" She gasped huskily. 

It started as a bubble, a curious rumble from inside his stomach that traveled up and out. He recognized it. He was laughing, the feeling making his heart light and his chest shake. 

He had to close his eyes and bend his head, the feeling new and exciting. But then she smacked his shoulder. He looked up, still feeling the bubble inside him. 

Her eyes were watery and she smiled though she did her best to sound angry. 

"You're not supposed to laugh while I'm on top of you."

He tentatively smiled back, feeling something akin to hope settle itself within him. If Peirce and Hydra could see him now. Human, alive, and utterly compromised.

"Show me." He demanded hungrily, craving her now more than ever. 

And her eyes turned dark as she lowered herself onto him.  She was heat; wet erotic fire. Sasha was the very essence of freedom.

She rode him hard, his mouth finding her breast. He relied on basic instinct but was driven by the sounds she made. The whimpers, groans, and every single “fuck”.

He was greedy, like a man starved and she was a feast. Even the sensors in his false appendage were alive with her. He trailed the steel fingers down her the sweaty flesh of her back, reveling in the way her body arched into him.

His body was tensing, her thrusts becoming more erratic as she mumbled into his ear.

“Almost.” She hummed.

He bit out his own, “Fuck.” Relishing in the way she clenched around him. She started to jerk, her legs tightening on either side of his. Finally, knowing her release was so very close, he tucked his steel arm around her body, bringing her breasts flush against him.

He reached his own release the same moment she did, growling her name incoherently. Their bodies sweating and shaking, both clinging to each other wordlessly.

After several minutes, Sasha began to stir. She tilted her head back to see him and couldn’t look away.

“Oh Bucky. I think I’m in a world of trouble now, arnt I?” She hummed, a smile tugging at her lips. He nodded, still mindless after their lovemaking.

“Yea.” Sasha whispered against his mouth as she kissed him softly. He tried to hold her there but she pushed at his chest.

“I’ve got to go to work. I can’t be late after yesterday.”

It reminded him of her knuckles, of her anger last night. She stood and rushed to the bathroom once more. This time he followed and watched, entrapped by her every movement as she started the shower and climbed in. She knew he was there but did not mind. He liked that.

“Will you tell me what happened?” He questioned. Even though they shared such fiery passion, Bucky needed to know all that transpired. He needed to be positive that they had not been compromised. If so, he’d take her with him afraid that if anyone was to find her, they’d stop at nothing to gain information. They could find a safe place. The thought was pleasant and he considered it even now.

But no, he needed his memory.

“Well, I was just cleaning and these suits walk in. Old S.H.E.I.L.D. employees or something. Well, one of them got cocky, and…” She paused. He could hear the strain in her voice. He could find this man. Could easily kill him and make it look like an accident. “I hit him. Twice! Dropped him like a sack of flour. One two knockout.” She sighed.

“I was taken up to see Tony Stark.” She called, her head peeking out of the floral curtain. “He thought I was a Hydra spy or something. I don’t know. I got pretty mad but then guess who showed up?” she asked this nervously. Bucky knew Stark was the one called Ironman and he was building the topmost layers of the tower dedicated to the team called The Avengers. He remembered the case file but it was foggy at best.

He did, however remember that Steve Rogers, aka Captain America was a current resident of the towers.

“Yea, your old friend. He looked pretty beat up.” Sasha said, binging him back to the moment. She had gone back into the shower and he could hear the loud splashes of water and soap. She must be washing her hair, he mused.

“Don’t worry though, they didn’t even mention you. I think it was more or less that I sucker punched an agent. Plus the good news. I found the elevator you’re looking for.”

 He took in this information and began to finalize his plan. He would have to leave the city not soon after he infiltrated the towers. But he could wait a few more days.

 He would ask her to come with him. If she denied him that, he’d leave. Make it look as if he were never there. She deserved as much.

 He snapped to attention when he realized she had left the shower and stood before him, a brown towel wrapped around her though only accentuating her curves.

 I don’t know what you’re thinking about, James but I’m not about to tell your secret.” She said solemnly. But then she smiled, and he could only say it looked… wicked. “Now if you don’t put some clothes on and stop staring at me, I’m going to have to take a cold shower. Please spare me the pain.”

He smiled slightly and nodded. He knew she was already late, but the idea of having her once more sounded pleasant. Still, he could not risk her being called in front of Stark or the other man.

He watched her leave the apartment not soon after and deciding he was not to hide away all day, he found a large enough hooded shirt and the same pants from yesterday and left. He had no place in mind when he left, just that he wanted to scout the area. Or so he told himself.


	20. Conversations about nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finds himself seeking help in odd places.

Not many people looked at the dark hunched man as he made his way through crowded streets. The heat had given way to a mild sunless day, making his disguise less out of place, though he couldn't say he was particularly comfortable. He had to keep his hand inside the hooded shirts pocket, making his strides feel less powerful. 

He mindlessly passed shops full of bright flowers, modern clothes, and more often food. He recognized their existence but carried on, his feet taking him further away from Sasha's home.  He had no intention to be gone by the time she got back, he simply needed to be out.

 He could not afford to be off guard though he fiercely wanted to dissect his time with the mysterious and fiery woman he had come to fell so strongly for. Even with the comfort he felt with her, inside the safe harbor of her apartment, he knew the agents of Hydra were looking for him. Not to mention the man from the bridge… Or rather, Steve Rogers.

So he kept his ears open and his mind alert for any signs of being watched. It was so easy to slip back into his soldier that it might have worried him had he not known about his past. It seemed he had been a fine soldier before Hydra.

Bucky wove through crowds, passed by groups of laughing children, and eventually began to recognize his direction. He seemed to be heading to the very place where his adventure with Sasha began. He came to stop directly in front a set of dirty barred windows. The old faded sign hung solidly, though the letters bright and clear as if having been repainted not long ago.

“Boney Thompson’s Boxing and Gym”

Simple and succinct. He was positive he would not be welcome here but the old man might shed some light on his current questions. And yet, he felt an odd trepidation about facing this man. He had seemed fatherly and had clearly felt a loyalty towards Sasha.

He looked at the door, realizing it was Sunday and that the gym was closed. He sighed, thinking it for the best. It was likely to have ended badly anyway.

He turned to leave when he heard the jingle of a bell. The one that lay above the door to the gym. He turned to see the stocky old man, arms crossed, cigar in mouth, leaning against the steel frame.

“Well. The boyfriend.” He grunted, a puff of grey smoke escaping his chapped lips.

Bucky simply nodded. He had no idea why he found himself here or why he put trust in this man.

“She ok?” He demanded quietly. Bucky saw his beefy arms tense and the man’s pulse throb in a vein that ran down his sun burned neck.

Again, he nodded. It was a tense few minutes as both men sized each other up and stared. Testing.

And the old man laughed, taking the cigar out and stomping on it with an old and tattered sneaker.

“Might as well come in then. The place is closed for the day.” He turned and held the door. Bucky hesitated, instinct running through all that could go wrong. But he had the choice now. And he chose to trust.

He walked in, noticing how the lights were dimmed in all but one area. A dummy with wooden arms stood in the center of the yellow overhead beams.

“I’ve been training some young kids in the neighborhood on self-defense. The styles keep changing and boxing just don’t cut it anymore.” Boney grunted, his voice gravely. Bucky looked back to the old man, noticing how he moved with power and grace. He obviously kept his body in shape.

“Sundays are my day to keep up. But I’m getting older. My joints aint what they used ta be.” He guzzled down half a bottle of water and tossed Bucky a fresh one. He caught it midair, his metal hand fully exposed. The smile on Boney’s face said he had done so on purpose.

“I knew I hadn’t imagined it.” He chuckled. Bucky tensed, ready to hightail it out of there, but then the old man surprised him. “Can you fight, son?”

Son. It was a strange but powerful endearment. Somehow, Bucky felt the tension leave his body and his arm slowly lower. He nodded, aware that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be telling this stranger anything.

“Have a go.” Boney offered, waving his thick hand towards the curious wooden dummy. Bucky walked over to it silently and examined the device. It seemed to made of several separate layers, each revolving around a single pole. Every layer having two thick, padded appendages. If you hit one, it would swing around, you’d have to be fast to deflect the other blow.

He had a feeling he’d seen this before, a sense of having trained with one very similar. Though he suspected there was much more pain than the padded arms. Spikes, shocks, and other cruelties. Yes, he was sure he had used one of these during Hydras control.

But here, it was not an instrument of training torture. It was simply a tool for teaching children. He smiled, thinking Boney was a smart man. Everyone should know how to defend themselves. Even kids.

He removed his hooded shit, tossing it to the side. A low whistle rent the air and he looked to see Boney’s eyes on this arm.

“Damn, son. That must’a hurt you bad.”

He couldn’t remember really, but he knew. Just knew that it had been the worst pain imaginable. He even thought that it wasn’t Hydra’s brainwashing that erased the pain but his own mind to protect him from the memory of agony.

He shrugged and turned back to the device. He began slowly, one arm, block.

Hit. Hit. Block.

Hit. Block. Hit. Hit. Hit. Block.

Faster. He moved with mindless precision, not letting a single blow find his body. He was always aware of his strength, careful not to break the equipment. After several minutes he stopped quickly and backed away.

He felt his heart pound pleasantly and a small smile tilted his lips as he looked to the shocked but grinning man.

“You’re ok.” He grunted. And then laughed, walking briskly to where Bucky stood. The man lifted his arm, and he barely suppressed the urge to flinch away and tense instead letting the man’s beefy hand slap him on the back.

It was… comforting.

“I was going to see if you’d go a round in the ring with me but I think I’ll take my chance with the bag.” He chuckled deeply, handing Bucky another bottle of water after he drained the previous one. It seemed that for all of his outward gruffness, this man enjoyed to laugh.

“I aint gonna ask nothing about that,” He pointed to the younger man’s steel appendage. “But I gotta know. Is your arm in there? Or is it all… whatever it is.” His aged face gone serious as the moved over to the hanging bags.

Bucky thought for a moment. He remembered flashes. Bits and pieces of the accident. Falling. Cold. Blood.

“Below the elbow is gone. I think the rest it in there.” He stated, though immediately wished he could take it back. He did not know this man. How could he be trusted with such information? But the grey-haired man simply nodded, his dark eyes clouded with sadness.

“I trained a kid, oh about ten years ago. He was a scrap of a boy but he had a huge heart. Day he turned 18, damn kid joined the army. About nine months later came back with a missing leg. Just above the knee.” Bucky could hear the pure and frustrated emotion as the man’s voice shook slightly.

“I tried helping him learn to walk again but the prosthetics were… Well, they were shit.” He turned away, busing himself by hanging a heavy, thick bag. One that looked designed for hard impacts. “And then this Mr. Stark started funding these companies to help the soldiers who lost limbs. That boy now had a plastic and metal leg that is wired to his nerves. It senses his movements and everything.”

He turned, a sad smile playing across his hard-worn face. “He’s a good kid. Gets nightmares every once in a while, but war does that.” He looked knowingly to Bucky. The story was for his benefit and although he had not completely trusted this man, he now found a deep respect for him. And appreciation. He understood now why Sasha was so fond of him.

“Ok, champ. Enough of this lady talk. I want to see how hard you can hit.”

And he indeed showed him.

By the time Bucky went to leave, he had sworn to pay the cost of the bag. It lay split and tattered over the floor having met its metal match. Boney laughed and cheered, elated that “Sasha has her own robo-cop to keep her out of trouble.”

He left Boney’s with enough time to get back to Sasha’s before she got off work. Little did he knew, she left work early.


	21. Stranger Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone was playing a strange game

 

 

Sasha was painfully aware of herself as she rode the nearly empty city bus to work. She had 20 minutes to herself and her mind, which seemed to demand she think about the events that had transpired since she left work the previous day, refused to even budge on the subject.

 Had she really lost all her reasoning’s and flung herself on him? What if he had reacted violently? Or worse. With Rejection.

 But he hadn’t and that’s why she was so damn confused and happy and angry and a myriad of other sentiments she didn’t want to think about. He had clung to her as much as she had him. Their passions were matched both in desperation and in skill. It was the best sex she had ever had. But really, she knew it was more than sex. It was some wholly other fucked up thing dealing with  _emotions_  and  _feelings._  Yuck.

 And then this morning! She groaned, pulling her hands up and covering her face. She’d left the warm cocoon of their bed to seek shelter in the bathroom. When she on a whim turned to see him, he had been hunched over with a pinched face. She felt her heart ache painfully, aware that she wasn’t the only one dealing with new emotions. Hell, everything was new to him.

 He looked so raw, so confused, and even worse, so damn gorgeous. His disheveled hair had started to wave a little rather than the straight rigid locks she remembered. His incredible plated metal hand cupped his face alongside his flesh one and she was reminded again of how lost he was.

 What she had done with him was not out of pity, not because she felt bad for him. No, she felt _for_  him. He had this horrible thing done to him and still he moved forward. He shown kindness when he could have been cruel. He was innocent, and yet felt tremendous guilt.

 And she admitted finally that Bucky had somehow found the one thing to open up her heart. He had the will to live. It’s something she had had to drill that into Mark, barely successful. But this dark dangerous man? He had it in buckets.

 The bus slowly came to a rumbling stop, the brakes screeching loudly. She left her seat and flounced down the step feeling a little lighter and a whole lot more optimistic. Whatever she and Bucky was, they’d at least be in it together. She smiled and prepared for a long day of cleaning for the Man.

 And yet, said work had turned out... strange. For hours she had felt eyes on her from time to time but assumed it was just the big man keeping tabs. Making sure she didn't assault any other stiffs but the more time passed the more she began to suspect an actual stalker. The tingle that ran up her spine, the little hairs that raised on her arms. She had been used to staring in many forms but this was eerily different.

She had just finished vacuuming the several boardrooms on the ground floor, when she looked up and saw a reflection in the dark tinted window of a tall redhead woman. She barely suppressed a squeak of surprise but couldn’t stop the jerk of her body.

 Whipping around, she came face to face with a beautiful woman. And a dangerous one. Sasha could feel the almost feral power coming off her in waves even as she stood not 6 feet from her. She noted the stranger had silently closed the door behind her.

 “Can I help you?" She asked a bit too harshly, watching as one of the other woman's slim red brow twitched up in surprise. 

 "Ms. Hope. I'm here on behalf of Stark. He thinks I can train you." She said, her voice clear and silky and so utterly fake. Sasha want born yesterday though to be honest most people didn't dissect simple conversations like her. Not that this was anything but simple. 

 Sasha set down the heavy vacuum and crossed her arms. Instinctively she adjusted her footing. If this came to blows she'd be prepared.  The movement did not do unnoticed. 

 "I don't need training to clean." She said sweetly. She felt the urge to test this woman as much as she was testing her. A small smirk played across her red lips, matching the shoulder length auburn locks.

 "He thinks cleaning is not your true talent." The woman said, her eyes moving over Sasha's body. She bristled, trying to tramp down the biting retort. The redhead made it clear that Stark was the only one who thought so. 

 "He's right." Sasha paused feeling a great amount of satisfaction in the other woman eyes as they widened a fraction. "I can make a mean breakfast." 

 The sound that bounced through the room was deep and quiet, but true nonetheless. She was laughing? Seriously?

 She was caught off guard then by a leg swiping across her feet. She nearly toppled back had she not had good reflexes. She twisted her body, letting her MMA training kick in. God bless, Boney. Landing on her hands, she pushed off the carpeted ground and flung her leg out in a powerful back kick.

 The redhead blocked, but barely. Sasha had no clue what the fuck was happening but she kind of wanted to show this woman what she was capable of. So she pulled out all the stops. After the weight of her leg was blocked, Sasha used the force to whip her body back to face her attacker.

Just as she did, a fist came barreling towards her abdomen.

 

Right, grab the fist, twist and lift. But it was pulled from her hand just as fast. A leg attempted to knock her down again, but she was on point as she jumped back just in time, kicking her cleaning trolley out of the way. They had the whole boardroom, so Sasha figured she’d use the space.

 She gracefully jumped up and over the table, feigning offense. As hoped the woman followed, lithely cartwheeling on top the long glass surface. Before the woman’s hands could meet the surface, Sasha wove her hands together, using them like a human hammer, and put her entire body into throwing them down, cracking the table. The force of the woman’s landing was enough to shatter the glass.

 Her attacker stumbled, almost dancing down the sides of the concaved table and retreated to the other side of the room. Sasha stood ready, fists balled painfully at her sides as she focused on controlled breaths. It had been way too long since she sparred with an actual human, and even then she wasn’t being attacked by a pro.

 The redhead looked like she had just walked out a board meeting, not even a sweat. She brushed her hands down her long pinstriped legs and looked happily to Sasha who was panting and literally vibrating with anger and adrenaline.

 “My, my, Sasha Hope. You are a surprise.”

 Knowing to tread lightly here, Sasha stood pensively trying to control her breathing.

 “I don’t know who you are,” She said cautiously, realizing this woman’s intention was never to hurt her. “But what the fuck!”

 “That was a pretty neat trick you did there, using my body weight to control the environment. How’s your hands?” She asked, walking around the table as if they hadn’t just had some crazy twenty second all-out fight.

 Sasha looked down, examining her hands. One had a little nick, but there was no blood, no real damage done. She shrugged, flexing the knuckles, thankful for all those boxing lessons.

 She did however, see the damage done to the table, glass littered the floor and the once whole furniture was now V shaped having completely split. She groaned, knowing either she was for sure going to be fired or that she’d at least have to clean this shit up.

 “Don’t worry about that.” The other woman chuckled, her hand out expectantly. “I actually think he’ll be impressed.” Sasha hesitated for only a moment, taking the woman’s hand in a strange handshake.

 “Natalia Romonov.” The bizarre woman said with that little smirk, a one sided smile that spoke of secrets.

 

“La’Sasha Hope… Um, Sasha is preferred.” The adrenaline was pumping wildly though her veins, but she tried to control it. 

“Well, Sasha. How would you like to put down the broom and pick up a little excitement?” She asked silkily ignoring her awkwardness.

 She wanted to roll over and laugh till her stomach hurt. Seriously? As if she didn’t have enough excitement in her life? As if this was the strangest thing to happen to her that very day?

 No, sleeping with an amnestic ex-assassin with a superhero BFF took that spot.

 The other woman raised her graceful hand to her ear and her eyes drifted to a spot over Sasha’s shoulder. “Agreed.” Was all she said.

“Mr. Stark will give you the rest of the day off. Paid of course. He only requests you take into consideration the offer.” She smiled, but Sasha could now see the hard glint to the woman’s eyes. The little shine that everyone who had seen and done things they regret have hidden deep in their soul.

 She found a little bit more respect for this woman.

 Sasha nodded, not saying another word. A lesson she took from Bucky. Sometimes the less that is said, conveys more. She left the room and the woman briskly, ignoring the few suits who lingered outside the windowed room. She held her shoulders straight and marched on, a small smile playing across her lips.

 She’d just been asked to become one of these douche-suits. But the idea… was sort of appealing, especially if it involved Natalia. She did wonder what Bucky would think. It might be better for him. Maybe she could even learn about memory recovery and help him even more.

 The whole ride home, she sat perched on her seat going over the pros and cons of working for Stark. She had never intended to be a cleaning lady forever, and she did have some basic skills for the job.

 She was so full of hopeful energy that she could barely contain the “Bucky!” she called as soon as she walked in her apartment.

 And then the sinking pit in her stomach started to form. “Bucky?” She called, moving from the kitchen to the living room.

 This time she whispered, “James?”

 The hum of the ceiling fan was the only sound, buzzing softly.


	22. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little damage control.

Bucky new something was wrong the moment he deftly existed the sixth floor stairwell. He could hear the music, loud and angry, muffled by the thick paneling of her apartment door. He hesitated for only a second, then braced himself, letting his mind become rigid. The handle gave way easily, indicating the door had not been locked, something Sasha would not allow.

His nerves were on edge, a million scenarios filtering through his head as he calculated the most effective search plan. He’d hazard the darkness to find the intruder and neutralize them before Sasha came home. There was a pain in his stomach that had never been there before as he silently stepped over the threshold to see her large purse laying haphazardly on the kitchen table. Fear, hot and violent seeped through him, knowing she had taken it with her to work.

He nearly became frantic as he moved like a ghost through the serviceable dining area. The source of the blaring music was the older stereo sitting atop her movie player. He tried to zone out, to ignore the raw and vehement beats as he continued to warily survey the larger living space. He noted the empty bottle of rum on the coffee table and shards of glittering crystal laying litter across the bottom of the wall, a wet spot indicating that a glass had been thrown. Violently.

He clenched his teeth and tried desperately to calm his rapid heart.  _Think like a soldier_ , he told himself. It would be best if he removed his emotions, but now that seemed impossible. Not with the fear that assuaged his heart.

There was no sign of forced entry, no evidence of an intruder but Hydra was so very good at getting in and out with no notice what-so-ever. He felt the heavy thought settle in his heart. She could not be hurt. She was too strong.

He slowly made his way to her bedroom, feet shifting to defensive position as his hand lay flat against her closed door. He was painfully aware of his lack of weapons, thinking back to the large duffle bad that sat behind the couch. It surely had some of his gadgets and a least 5 knives he could use but the thought of her being in danger was enough to placate him. He’d kill them all with his bare hands if necessary.

Before he could open her door, the one across the hall flew inward. She stood stock still in the doorway, her hair a wild mess, wet streak marks running lines down her face an indication she had been crying. They stared, his heart thrumming so painfully, just to see her there and alive.

And then she lunged, her fist colliding with his face. He did not duck, did not fight back, as she tossed them both to the floor. His relief was so great that he simply let her knock them both to the ground with a loud thud. Bucky recognized the sound of her angry sobs and tried to find her face, but she sat atop him, the walls of the narrow hallway preventing much else. She slapped him hard, the sting a reminder of her strength.

“Where,” she gasped painfully, her hands covering her face. “the fuck were you!”

Instinct led him to bring his hands up to rest lightly on her hips. She hunched slightly, but remained tense. Her body started to shake making him inconveniently aware of her nearly unclothed state.

He could not speak. His own emotions too new and raw to understand. He had never felt a fear like that; not knowing if she were the victim of the vile men who wanted him. He felt a shudder run through his body and prepared himself for her rage, yet still so thankful she was unharmed.

She finally fixed her golden gaze on him and he saw the fire burn beneath the surface. Did he put that there?

“Bucky, I got home.” She choked out, nostrils flaring. “And you were not here! I thought-,” she gritted her teeth and turned her head away from him. Fight or flight. His mind was reeling, such vivid and relentless emotions had nearly felled him, and here she was showing the same kind of concern for him as he had for her. Fight or flight?

As if there was an option. He cupped her face and forced her to meet his eyes, relieved in the way she did not fight him. Bucky hoped that she could see what he was really trying to say through all of his silence and half-assed ramblings.

“I went to see your friend. Boney.” He whispered gruffly, running his silver thumb across her cheek to wipe away an errant tear. She leaned into his hand, the sensors buzzing slightly from the contact. Bucky saw the hurt and fear that raged in her stunning eyes.

“I was worried that they’d got you!” she bit out, gold flecks sparking in the warm brown orbs. “And then I thought you left because of…” she trailed off, a blush rising. He groaned, knowing exactly what she thought. How could she not see the one true thing about him? When he first thought to take her hostage and force her to help in the recovery of his memory, he’d been a machine. He looked at this astounding woman now as a man, maybe an evil man, but a man nonetheless.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy, Doll.” He mumbled smoothly, the words flowing out from a part of his brain he had not accessed yet. It was such a simple saying, but held so much more meaning and they both knew it. And of course the endearment was as natural as breathing and he found he wanted to say it more often.

A small smile slowly spread across her face, bringing the light back to those eyes. He could see the small freckles the lightly scattered across her nose, realizing he wanted to take in everything about her.

“Doll? Is that some 40’s lingo?” She grinned, reaching a hand up to lay atop his.

He nodded, felling something like embarrassment. How did this woman wake so many parts of him with a smile? A touch? Her face turned serious after a moment as she remembered her anger. But this time she looked more exacerbated.

“Bucky, you scared the shit out of me. It’s not like I can go looking for you.” Sasha huffed, her body still straddling his hips.

“I was going to be back before you.” He grunted. As inconvenient as ever, he was feeling arousal tug at his loins. It didn’t help his thinking, with her weight pressed pleasantly down on him and her warm breath caressing the cold steel of his hand. His eyes fixated on her lips, plump and red from biting it. Most likely while being upset previously.

She noticed his gaze and he could feel the change in her. Lust like heat came off her in waves, making her vanilla scent so much more intoxicating. He watched hard as those round lips turned in to his palm and pressed a soft kiss to metal plates. Sensors vibrated with pleasure up his arm and to his core, making his hips jerk. How was that even possible?

She had her eyes on his face and he thought she had to know what she was doing to him. By the small way her hips shifted, he assessed she was burning with lust too. And yet here, on the hallway floor, where chaos seemed to be common place, she controlled the scene.

With flushed cheeks and a husky breath, she pulled one of the metal digits in her warm, wet mouth. It felt like lightning, like an excruciating tension that ripped through his body in the most wonderful way. He moaned, closing his eyes to the erotic sight. He tried to tell himself to find control. To let Sasha make the moves and he mostly succeeded.

Bucky couldn’t, however, stop himself from grinding into her, feeling her heat through the thin fabric of her gym shorts. How easy would it be to just move the lose fabric aside and sink into her hot center. He gritted his teeth, forcing his human hand to remain glued to her hip, even gripping it tighter. God, she felt like pure molten heat, with her tongue and her lips. It was nearly cruel.

Suddenly he closed his eyes, a small pang at his temple making him aware of the oncoming memory that swirled around the edges of his brain.

A jeep carrying sleeping men. Only he and Steve were awake, sharing a bottle of vodka. Steve was unchanged but Bucky had started to feel the effects of the drink.

“I don’t know, Buck. She sets me on fire. I can’t picture a life without the dame.” The young man had said, his uniform had been filthy with blood and dirt.

“You find a girl who lights your flame, you gotta make sure you don’t lose her. When we get home, you gotta convince her to keep you, ya’ big punk.” Old Bucky had joked quietly but earnestly.

The memory faded and he was left panting but not with pain. He felt the fire for Sasha, felt it because of her. He knew what he wanted now and before she knew what he was doing, he twisted their bodies, pinning her beneath him.

“Will you keep me?” He croaked out, body tensing under the weight of his words. The shadows of the memory slipping past his eyes as his bored into her face. She was stunned and flushed but there was something glittering deep within her gaze that set his heart thumping loudly.

“Can you deal with my temper?” She countered, a small wicked smile making that glint in her eye more pronounced.

He nodded, hoping that she let him remain quiet as he did not trust his mouth with her body so warm and soft when he had ever known coldness and cruelty. He braced himself above her, the music pounding away in the background. Bucky was stunned by the fierceness of his desire for both her body but something more. Something pure and good that only she could grant him. He didn’t deserve her and all of the feelings she brought to him.

“But I’m not whole.” He admonished quietly. He hadn’t realized he had said it aloud until she huffed in irritation, crossing her arms in a way that only accentuated their position. She stared at him long and hard, the crease between her brows softening slightly as she laid on palm on the side of his face.

“You are more.” She responded, passion lining every word. He tilted his head, watching her face changed once more from frustration to pleasure. Could she really ignore the monster he had been?

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m still mad at you and it would be in your best interest to distract me.” She murmured brazenly.

He followed her advice and took her there in the hall, bruises be damned. Their bodies were tight with tension and their groans were nearly as loud as the music but still they had each other. His hips slamming fiercely into hers, the long pull of her nails marking him underneath his hooded shirt, sending spikes of lust violently spiraling through his body.

Long after, they lay spent, clinging to one another on the hard ground. He rubbed his stubbly cheek against the softness of her stomach and enjoyed the way she tried to slap him away playfully. It was nearly ten by the time they managed to crawl into bed.

And it was three when Bucky heard the window across the hall open.


	23. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will find you."

She awoke with a start, her body jerking hard against the solid pressure of a hand over her mouth. She twisted but still, registering the hand as being made of metal. If this was some kind of hidden kink of his, they were going to have to talk about appropriate times to play. Her eyes adjusted to see that although Bucky’s touch was gentle, the rest of him clearly was not. He practically vibrated with tension, as he stared out her open bedroom door.

She hummed against his warm palm, knowing he'd understand. His face turned to hers and she was hit by the full weight of his gaze; anger, fear, and something darker. He removed his hand signaling for her to remain quiet. Which she barely did, due to the knot forming in her heart, making her blood run cold.

Sasha was quickly becoming worried when he handed her a piece of paper, imploring with his eyes for her to read it. She shivered, knowing exactly what was happening but reading anyway.

_“Compromised. They are listening but no visuals. Go to Stark. Get Steve Rogers. I will let them take me. Do NOT follow or fight. Track your phone._

_Act Normal and for the love of God, do not engage. Please. They will kill you or worse._

_Sasha, I am so sorry I put you in this position._

_-B”_

She shook her head silently, refusing to run from this, even with the lump of pure terror that threated to cut off her air supply. Not fear for her, never. But Jesus fuck, she would not let them take Bucky!

He glared at her, taking the sharpie from off the dresser. “NOW” he scribbled on the page. She wanted to scream, but he was kissing her then. A touch that was both desperate and apologetic. When he pulled away she could see he was losing his fight with fear and violence that darkened his eyes.

He was right. There’s no way they could take them, especially with no weapons save a few knives and Bucky’s arm but Sasha knew the real reason. He didn’t want her hurt and although her ego was damaged, she just fucking knew he was right. She shivered knowing she'd go, unsure of whether or not the Captain would help.  

With hot tears scaling trails down her face, she rose from the bed kissing him soundly. She hoped he felt the promise behind it.  _I will find you._

Steeling her nerves, she walked stiffly to the kitchen, aware that the spare room had unwanted guests, grabbed her purse and headed back.

"Hey Bucky, I'm going to be late. I don't have time for coffee!" She called over her shoulder, glad to see the relieved smile grace his face. If she played this cool, he might not even be taken. She'd have to get to Stark tower as fast as possible though, and hope that he could hold them off. They problem was they had the tech that could take him down. She shakily tossed on a pair of slacks and a tank, knowing she'd need the comfort later, and silently went through her drawers, pulling out a few things and tossing them in her bag.

"Ok, I'm outta here. Don't break anything while I'm gone." She said playfully, hoping the little laugh at the end covered her sob. She was a shitty actress but she'd do what was needed. She looked back in time to see him swallow a small device, her phone lay open and broken next to him. Ah, well. That's how she'll track him. She left on quaking knees, turning at the door to give him a significant look as he sat stiffly on the couch, hands clenched for battle. She bit her lip and closed the door behind her.

Right now she was on auto pilot, aware that she would definitely have eyes on her. Sasha felt a sickness in her heart that was vaguely similar to the one she had when she discovered Mark had died. Shaking herself, she refused to admit defeat before the fight even began, tempted to just turn around. Fuck.

She forced her walk to slow as she made her way to the lobby. A storm cloud had settled over the city, bringing a darkness that she felt seep into her bones. Rage battered with fear, churning violently in her stomach as she made her way up the block, every face to her an enemy. Her bus came a few moments later but before she got on she noticed the folks who sat in their usual seats. And then there was a man she'd never seen on this line.  His face was neutral, eyes staring to the door. Expecting. Yea, that's a whole lot of nope. 

She stayed in the shadows of the alley and watched as the bus rumbled past, grey smoke billowing out of the pipes. The strange man stood, looking back to the stop, clearly unhappy. Fuck, she'd have to foot this one.

She walked quickly, staying close to the brick buildings, keeping her senses open. Sasha attempted to calculate the distance and time it would take to run, if there were any short cuts but with the city still rebuilding itself after the alien attacks, there was no guarantee. Frustrated, she heaved a sigh, adjusting the heavy purse to the other shoulder.

And then, half way through the city streets, she felt the tingle on her spine, an awareness of being watched. She crossed the heavily trafficked street to the less used sidewalk. A dog barked in the distance and there were a few men shouting, their voices echoing off the concrete buildings. All the noises one would expect to hear from the city, but in this moment Sasha hated it. She longed for the peaceful sounds of that faraway place. The old abandoned radio tower Bucky had taken her too. Steeling her nerve she started to plan.

Now, Sasha would never say she was very good at acting, but planning on the fly was something she could claim expertise in. She looked for transportation. No taxi’s; not in this city. Never get in a car with a creeper. Looks like she'd have to find a kind stranger, even if they could be Hydra or Shield. Slowing her walk, her gaze roamed over the crowded streets. It took her only a minute, and like a light from heaven, her perfect solution stood only a few feet away.

There, parked in front of a small newspaper stand was a motorbike. She walked up to it admiringly, hoping her flushed face would be perceived as pleasure rather than fear.

A young man, maybe 20 years old caught her gaze and smiled charmingly. He had a backpack on and looked to be heading to school. College student, good. He was reading a comic book, so he was shy. Maybe a little awkward. Very good. She flashed him her best smile.

"Hey. I like the bike." She hummed, trying to imitate the silky sounds Natalia perfected. 

The boy blushed but smiled, nodding a thanks and hiding the comic in his bag. She ignored it. Sasha should have gotten an award for the way she crooned and giggled as he explained about the bike, the fear for Bucky made her jumpy. She couldn’t let him go on so she deftly interrupted.

"I was just on my way to work at Stark Towers and missed my bus. Do you think you could give me a lift? Don't want Mr. Stark to yell me again." She spoke sweetly watching in relief as the boys eyes widened with the name drop.   _Yea, be impressed._  

He agreed readily, talking to her about college and his plans to work for Stark. She played along, even with the knot of anxiety twisting her insides, saying she'd put in a good word of he gave her his information, which he did as soon as they arrived.

She smiled sexily and winked, taking the shaking paper from him. She almost felt bad about leading this kid on but she had to get to Bucky in time.

God, why did he make her leave, she cursed as she nearly ran into the marble entrance. There were plenty of people milling about but she needed to straight to Stark. Oh man, how was she supposed to do that?

She scanned her I.D. badge and waved to Mr. Jameson, her favorite security guard. She was nearly falling down with panic as she made her way to the security elevators. Fuck fuck fuck. 

She slid her badge through the scanner, huffing out a frustrated breath when the little light turned red, denying her access. She tried again, with the same negative results. Finally, she looked around the room. There was moment of terror as she wondered if she was already too late.  _No, Sash! You’ve got this._

She sighed, knowing the only way to get attention from the big man.  She walked back out into the busy corridor and scanned the room. Some suits, some business men. She didn't want to hurt any of them. That is... Until she saw Lady Douche-suit striding by, a snide twist to her lips as she spotted Sasha.

Ok, at least this will be kinda enjoyable.

In a flash, Sasha had whipped out her handy switch blade and was behind the shorter woman, metal pressed neatly to her flesh. 

The suit lost the snide mouth, replacing it with a piercing scream, drawing the attention and barrels of several people in the surrounding area. 

"I knew you were a-" She tried to spit before Sasha cut her rant short.  She really didn't have time for this, knowing Bucky was probably now in the fight of his life. 

"I need Stark and The Captain." She yelled over the crowd, watching as no one made a move to comply with her demands. "Now!" She screamed, hearing the crazy in her own voice. 

"Ms. Hope, Mr. Stark has assured me he will be down shortly." Said the cultured British voice overhead. She nodded, feeling the lump finally rise in her throat. The seconds felt like hours and she her heart was beating so loud it made her ears hurt. Still, she refused to cry in front of these idiots.

Suddenly there was a loud buzzing and an even bigger crash. Sasha whirled around to see a suit of red and gold hovering off the white marble floor.

Behind him was The Captain though no longer in uniform, he still had his legendary shield strapped to his back. His face was drawn, making him look older. Well, he was pretty old so…

Ok, so now all she had to do was talk and convince them to help find and rescue the assassin who had destroyed S.H.I.E.L.D., threatened their lives, and probably had a price on his head. GAH!

She pushed the suit away violently and tossed the knife towards the tall American hero, her hands up. She felt a tear fall but set her chin stubbornly. She’d make them understand.

"Well sweetheart, you've got out attention." Chimed in Stark as he landed lightly. They still stood defensively several feet away.

"Bucky." She choked out, finally feeling the desperation claw to the surface. Both men tensed but The Captain stepped a foot closer only to be held back by his metal friend. 

"I think we need to take a ride up to my place.” Suggested Stark smoothly though clearly there was a tightness lining every word. 

"No!" She yelled aware now that the room was being cleared by none other than Natalia and a handsome black man she'd not meet before. "No time." She gasped out, realizing that that she might very well have a full freak out. 

A soft hand rested on her shoulder, and she turned to see the redheaded woman. Hey eyes were concerned, though still hard.

“I was helping him. He’s not evil; he’s not like before.” She whispered to her, pleading to the woman. She turned her face to the other men, the two now standing side-by-side, flanking Steve Rogers. “He told me to find you.”

No one moved except Sasha, not a single sound escaped the unique group of people as she twisted in Natalia’s grasp to stride and stand in front of her lovers old friend. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and looked deep into his soulful blues. What came next surprised the entire group, including herself.

“I think I love that man and as far as we’ve been able to figure out, so do you. If you don’t help me now, I will find someone who will.”


	24. Rush Now

Sasha could feel her heart throb violently in her throat. Bucky was in trouble and here she was, pleading at the feet of these so called hero’s. Her only hope was that they made it in time or at the very least could find him before Hydra could torture him.

Stark was currently in the process of tracing her phone’s GPS after she told them the cut and dry version of the events. She had The Captain on board but the others looked like they were in serious need of convincing.

Sasha was nearly done with these people, deciding that either they were going to help or she was going to find him herself. She was about to turn on her heal when the voice from before, the fancy British one, began to speak.

“GPS location is active and moving, heading south on-,” and the rest was a blur. Sasha was practically being dragged by the Captain towards the elevator as he shouted orders over an ear piece. She was so relieved by the flurry of activity that she didn’t even listen to what was being said, until she heard her own name.

“You will stay here until we have more information at which time-,” He started, all soldier and commands.

“Like hell I am! No, if Bucky is in danger, then I need to be there.” She demanded vehemently, pulling him to a stop. She noticed Natalia was not too far behind, having followed them through the twists and turns and to the underground garages.

“Ma’am, I don’t think you understand the dangers.”

“I don’t think you understand how much I don’t care. I’m fucking going.” She yelled, clenching her fists in an attempt to not lash out.

“Absolutely not.” He grunted, turning to leave. Before she could even take a breath to form a retort, Natalia stepped up and laid a hand on the tall man’s shoulder, effectively stopping him.

“Steve, she needs to be there. She’s the only one he trusts and if Hydra had done something to his head, she might be our only hope of making him remember. That’s what all the files say. Emotional Stimuli.” The redhead mumbled silkily. God damn, Sasha needed to learn that trick.

The Captain had the worst kind of pain in his eyes, one so much like Bucky’s that Sasha felt her anger drain towards him away. This man was missing his best friend. Jesus, why couldn’t she see it before. He was looking for Bucky to help him, not to lock him away.

“I am going. I’m sorry that’s not a part of your plan, but he’s important to me now too.” She said stubbornly, arms crossed. He stared at her hard, eyes like ice piercing her through with their intensity. Finally he nodded and wordlessly turned the large open cement garage.

“With her or me.” He yelled over the roar of his bike. Sasha looked to Natalia as she climbed into a sleek and sexy vehicle Sasha was positive was not street legal.

She went with the fastest and most dangerous. Of course she would, that was her life motto apparently.

The Captain drove fast, speeding viciously through the lower Manhattan streets, passing her apartment in minutes. She felt the tug in her heart when they didn’t stop but knowing that Hydra would have already taken him. She wondered angrily if they hurt him, or if he was passive. Either one made her want to scream.

Things started to blur and Sasha suddenly became aware that they were leaving the city completely. Further and further, until she was certain that it couldn’t be much further. With each passing minute, she lost a little more her nerves and felt the strange calm that settled into her stomach. However this was going to go, she would kill anyone who had done anything to hurt Bucky.

They began to slow, creeping off the freeway and on to an older path. The large man in front of her mumbled some army jargon into his ear piece and waited for Sasha to dismount before removing himself from the bike. He turned worn but stubborn blue eyes to her, and she was stuck again by the eeriness of him being alive. Bucky and this man should be long dead, but thankfully they are still kicking.

“Stark circled above. There’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility a few miles up but I’m positive now that it’s a Hydra base.” He relayed to her silently. He face turned to the small path in which they could see the road and soon Natalia’s vehicle came into view.

“What now.” Sasha asked, drawing his attention back to her.

“Nat will have some weapons. Stark and Falcon will fly us in. Basically, this is a drop and knock.” He had the voice of a true commander and Sasha found herself looking to him for orders as Natalia pulled the vehicle off road and began to unload some serious heat.

Above, two large shadows danced along the clearing. Sasha looked up to see Ironman and… A man bird? What the fuck?

“That’s Falcon. He’ll be taking you two up and in, while Ironman has me. South entrance.” He pointed to Sasha then. “I still don’t like putting a civilian in danger like this. I goes against everything I stand for. Are you sure about this?”

“Never been more certain about anything in my life.” She whispered, tucking away two heavy pistols into her belt and a serrated knife on a calf strap. She felt a lot better with protection and started to tingle with anticipation. She paced over to Nat when she called. The beautiful woman was now stone and armor. Her battle face was fierce as handed her two small disks the size of a quarter.

“If the man does not recognize you… If he is the Winter Soldier once more, use this to incapacitate him. Just stick and press.” The redhead was careful to avoid Sasha’s eyes. She knew why. They both did. No matter what, not even if her life was in danger, she’d never hurt him.

The two men who had been circling above landed about twenty feet from the trio. Before they began this crusade, she knew there was a few things she had to say.

“Ok guys,” Sasha started, gaining the attention of all present. “Bucky is mentally fragile, but he is still strong and relies heavily on instinct.” This time she looked directly at The Captain, pleading with her eyes. “Do not try and force memories on him. It hurts him physically. Let them come on their own.”

The tall blond nodded though she could tell he was miles away, planning and calculating. Sasha looked to the others and thankfully they seemed to understand what she was saying. They were trained, highly professional agents and soldiers and geniuses. She was a cleaning lady who knew a little bit of boxing. There was a large probability that she was not going to come out of this alive and if that were the case, they needed to know how to handle her Bucky. Falcon nodded, Ironman sighed, and Natalia? Well, it was simply the look in her eyes that told Sasha she knew exactly what it implied.

There was a silent calmness as they lifted off, her clutching tightly to the dark man called Falcon. She had been hooked on with a large clasp but still, falling didn’t seem like a thing she wanted to experience. She wondered briefly on why the super agency Hydra would have no alarm system in place but she trusted the Captain and the others in their knowledge.

The sun was low in the sky, making it not quiet dusk. That meant they have had Bucky for nearly ten hours. The thought made her hurt. So many hours, so much she should have done.

After a few minutes of flying blind, (Sasha diligently keeping her eyes closed) she heard through ear piece Natalia’s soft voice. “Brace for landing, Sasha.”

As soon as their feet touched the solid concrete of the large industrial building, chaos erupted. Overhead a siren blared and the sounds of shouting escalated. It was very nearly deafening, but Sasha followed orders. She stayed behind Natalia as Ironman blasted a hole several feet ahead of them.

Movements were fluid and organized though she knew she held them back somewhat. They entered the building and into the thick of several men, all covered in black and all firing at them. The Captain kept her shielded and pushed forward as she covered their back.

In this one moment, time slowed to a painful pace. She knew exactly what happened. She raised a pistol, a heavy black special S.H.I.E.L.D edition, and aimed it at the neck of an attacking Hydra soldier. He was going to kill her. She knew that. She also knew she could kill him first.

But Sasha had never actually shot anyone other than Bucky and even then she hadn’t shot to kill. Now though, with not only her life in danger, Bucky’s was as well she had to. Hell, even wanted to. So she aimed, keeping her arm steady as she moved backwards, step by step with The Captain’s feet. Slow, even her heart which had been thrumming rapidly, thumped only once as she pulled the trigger. She didn’t blink. Didn’t turn her face as she watched her attackers drop his weapon he’d only just raised. She knew she couldn’t have heard the sound with all the other blasting noises and commands, but still in her brain, the wet gurgle of choked blood seeped into her soul.

His body dropped to the floor and as soon as it did, the world around her sped up too fast. She didn’t have time to process or feel pain or joy or any emotion other than the need to find her lost lover.

For such an intimidating organization, this Hydra facility was not very efficient. She chalked it up to having to slap it together after their HQ was compromised a few months ago but couldn’t say she minded. In the chaos she heard Natalia call from over a screaming man (Sasha didn’t want to think about where the other woman’s hand was though it was clearly not visible), that she had found the way to Bucky.

They were turning then, to power through another onslaught of Hydra soldiers when the room went silent. She felt it, the dread and agony, ripping a hole in her stomach. She just fucking knew it.

Over The Captain’s shield, not twenty feet from her, stood a soldier dressed in a black strapped vest. She heard Natalia whisper, a ghost of a sound that finally broke through her calm.

“The Winter Soldier.”


	25. Shattered

Orders. Kill the terrorists. The man with the shield. The red-haired woman. The man in the iron armor and the winged soldier.

And their leader. The woman with whom Brock Rumlow had assured him was his number one priority and to kill her with quickness.

But they were yelling. At him. TO him. They did not fear him.

Doesn’t matter. He had a mission he needed to complete. Too many above him; with the two men able to fly. Rumlow, with charred skin, assured the soldier that he was commander and that these were the vile people who stood in Hydra’s glorious purpose. He could care less about that.

He had a mission. He had his orders.

Moving fast, he ran for the man with the shield, intent on distracting the others from his true target. The woman.

The tanned faced woman with large wet eyes.

Had Rumlow told him this? Didn’t matter. The other man was fighting him off but not actually engaging. Strange.

He tried again to lure the others towards the back of the large room where other agents waited with machines that would disable the two flying annoyances.

But they also would not engage.

He grew frustrated, yelling out in Russian low commands.

Push them back, use violence. Separate the woman from the others.

The other Hydra agents sprang into action, taking the redhead and forcing her into battle. She was good. Trained; felling several agents with ease.

The man with the shield would still not separate himself from the beautiful woman. He felt a pinch at the back of his skull.

Ignoring it, he ran forward once more, using a knife to slash the other man’s leg as he raised his circular metal disk to cover Sasha.

_Bucky!_

He turned, hearing the gasp come from somewhere close. But there was no one, as he had dodged back several paces. He looked to the couple, overhead a battle with raged between the Hydra agents who were supposed to take down the fliers. They were unsuccessful.

But that voice.

Oh god! His brain! It hurt as it did when they used the machine on his.

Mission! Stay on mission!

The soldier took advantage of the tall man’s lack of action, using his metal appendage to make contact with his face. A solid blow. Boney would be proud.

What?

The man’s large body hit the ground with a thud. He was not unconscious but dazed enough for the Soldier to end his target.

She stood before, square shoulder. No fear.

“My Bucky.” She sighed heavily. He saw sadness in her eyes; resolution. The others were deep in battle. He could do it now, wrap his hand around her slender neck. Squeeze the life out of her slightly freckled face.

Remove the emotion from her warm amber eyes.

And the soldier did, all the while the pain in his skull screaming. He raised his arm, angry when she did not fight. She did not even blink as he tightened his metal grip, sensors tingling.

He remembered the feel of her skin. It was soft and sweet. She smelled of vanilla.

Tighter. He couldn’t stand the pain.

The others, her cohorts, were screaming at him. But not one attacked. Did they not want to protect their leader?

She was his target! His mission! Rumlow had assured him. But he was not Peirce. What happened to Peirce? What happened to command?

Who was this woman? The others?

She had called him Bucky. So had the man…On the bridge. That man he saved from the water. Steve Rogers. The one who lay before him, eyes pleading. The soldier was gasping now, brain tearing itself apart.

His friend from years ago. Childhood friends. Steve Rogers. And the woman. Oh his Sasha!

God, the fucking ripping pain. He was sure his eyes were bleeding from the agony.

But there was visions. War, Captain America, laughter, coldness, rain, vanilla, Sasha, skin, love, Hydra, pain.

Too much.

The blackness that had clouded his vision had finally taken his mind as he fell into the abyss.

~*~*~*~

“Cap?”

He shook his head, holding the woman close to his chest. He would not speak as he handed her lifeless body to Stark. And Stark would not speak when he delivered her to the medics room in Stark tower.

The nurses and doctors would not speak as they looked sadly at the woman whom already had deep blue and purple bruises forming around her neck.

Natalia would not speak when she entered the room in which the woman’s body lay, clean white walls and clean white faces also silent.

Not a soul would speak that day.

The only noise was the faint  _beep beep beep_.

And even that tried to remain silent.


	26. Rise up and Feel

He was climbing up from a sea of trembling terror. Kicking without moving, feeling the tightness pull at his muscles, tearing him through layers of awareness. He was nearly there, shifting up, trying not to scream as the realization that he was tied down hit him. No, not tied. There was metal holding him down.

Oh God! Through the pain of waking, he was becoming aware. Memories, both recent and not were crashing into his brain so blindingly fast. He could not stop the horrified gurgle from erupting from his throat.

Raw and dry as it was, the sound must have stirred someone near. He was unable to open his eyes, the lids weighed down by drugs. He could feel the morphine thickening his blood, but whoever drugged him must not know that such things burn off him.

But then he heard a voice. A deep timbre he remembered from a long time ago. It made his heart light, his chest loosen from the panic that had begun to throb there.

“Bucky?”

He was hearing it, his name, from the mouth of his childhood friend. Steve-y boy! But he couldn’t talk, not with the hot pain searing his throat. It was like acid had been poured into him. But he nodded, stretching his fingers out, hoping the kid could see him trying.

“Is it-,” His friend paused. Pain clear in his voice. “How do you feel?” He asked stiffly. Bucky knew what he was trying to say. Was he all fucked up in the head? Well, of course he was. But he remembered! Oh beautiful memories and painful ones too. So he snorted at the jerk, attempting to twist his lips into his classic wry smile.

Fingers were on his wrists, pulling the thick metal braces off. Finally, after gaining a bit more strength, he opened a single eye. Everything was blurry and white with dark messy shapes. But he could recognize his big lug of a friend anywhere.

“Do you remember?” Was asked by a silky smooth voice. A second shape, very clearly a woman, moved to stand behind Steve. His vision was clearing, but he still couldn’t make out her face. But her voice…

He shook his head non-committedly, hoping they would get it. He remembered but it was all so crazy in there. His head was pounding with thoughts and feelings and sensations. It was fucking chaos.

He croaked out harshly for water, knowing that he spoke in Russian. Old habits and all. He watched warily as the shapes began to move. He opened his other eye, focusing on the red hair.

The woman was quick but her movements were controlled. Ah, yea! She was a spy! A good one too. Where did he remember her form?

He would have thought more on the matter but there was water, cold and gloriously refreshing. He could feel the ache in his lungs begin to dull. Lifting his hands, he rubbed his face to clear the fog. When the fingers from his left hand touched his face, however, he jerked back, blinking clouded eyes at the metal appendage.

Right. That’s right. He had a metal arm, plates that over lapped, sensors focusing in the finger tips and running up to his shoulder and chest. Hmm. Hydra had done that. Zola.

He made a fist and unclenched it, twisting his hand around as if seeing it for the first time. And it sort of like he was. The memories were… there but not.

“Bucky, we don’t want you to try and remember too much too fast. She told us it hurts you.” Steve said quietly. The redhead, whose features were much more clear now, smacked his shoulder; a look of quiet anger flitting across her features.

His old friend must have realized his mistake and looked at his hands, properly chastised. Bucky would have laughed if he could have. Now wasn’t that just like Steve. But what had he said? Bucky already knew that the memories hurt. He wasn’t going to go out and try to get it all straight today! But then…

She told them. She.

Sasha. Oh his lovely dame! What a feisty gal. He grinned stupidly, thinking about how they met. She was good to him, taking care of him while the memories ripped him apart. He’d kidnapped her! What an idiot. But his girl was sweet.

She must have warned him about his bouts of pain. But that’s great! She knew Steve already!

But then… oh God. Another memory. One he couldn’t control. Images that were like looking through water. Blurry, violent, red rage. Taking her throat in his hand. Squeezing her. Watching those big beautiful eyes fading.

“No.” He gasped, sitting up with blinding speed. His heart raced viciously in his chest. “NO!” He yelled, his voice breaking from the strain. Steve was there, trying to calm him. Oh god, what had he done.

“Sasha!” He screamed, panic and pain fighting for dominance. He had to find her. She couldn’t have died. She was too strong! Why was she there! How could he have killed her!?

The others were screaming at him, a nurse came in, needle in hand. No, he would not let them drug him. He had to find her.

The one person he thought would not help him, called above the others; her voice loud and clear. “Stop! Everyone out!”

Not a single person moved, even as Bucky tried to fight against Steve’s hold on him. Finally after a tense silence where even he ceased moving, the room emptied. Steve let go of him, and backed away slowly. How could his best friend not know how important it was that he find his woman?

“Go. I’ll handle this.” The spy whispered to the tall blond. Bucky calculated he could take her down quickly, even in his broken state. He’d just have to get by the man as he stood guard outside of the glass door. Of course the jerk wouldn’t go far. Not with a girl in here with a fucking killer like him.

She looked at him then, eyes piercing through his core. He didn’t care. He’d kill anyone who stood in his way in this very moment. But then she spoke, softly and quietly.

“Sasha Hope was wounded in battle against the Hydra weapon known as The Winter Soldier a week ago. She did not fight. She did not beg.”

Bucky could feel the pit inside his chest begin to tear open, a hole in which he would never return from if his Hope was gone. And the woman continued, all the while staring into his pained, wet eyes.

“She was deprived of oxygen for a long time, her brain activity wasn’t even on the charts.”

“Please stop.” He rasped through shaking lips. He wanted to vomit. A loud screech rent the air as his artificial fingers tore into the metal railing on the side of his hospital bed. His black hair coming down to cover his face.

“She was declared dead on arrival.” The woman said, her once soft voice now tense.

He could not look at her, unable to comprehend what he had done. How could he have ended the one soul who had loved his broken self?

“But if there is one thing you should know about Sasha Hope, it’s that she is a fighter.”


	27. Finding hope

 

 

You know the expression, "I feel like I've been hit by a truck."? Well, in Sasha's case it was more like a ten ton freighter had ran her down and then backed up to finish the job. Waking from the medically induced coma had been rough, but learning how to walk and move again was nearly killing her. The doctors had little to say and wouldn't give her any updates on her own freaking condition, leaving her nervous.

But by the third day she was walking with a cane, sneering at the nurses who told her to take it easy, though they only allowed her to stroll around her large hospital room.  

But she didn't give a flying fuck how much she hurt. Her rage was enough to propel her forward. She refused to stay even one more minute stuck in this room with no one telling her a damn thing about Bucky or Hydra. She was sure she wasn’t even in a real hospital seeing as the door had a lock on the outside and it was way nicer than the general here.

Sasha decided on the sixth day that she’d get some answers, her way.

So when the male nurse came in for her hourly check-up, she didn’t feel slightly remorseful as she blindsided him with the heavy vase Natalia had (curiously) brought flowers in yesterday. Now he lay on her bed, the finger monitor attached to his so the heart rate machine would still register someone’s beating organ. She’d have about a half hour before they knew she was missing.

Now all she had to do was find Bucky. She knew he was here in the building somewhere. She just had to figure out where.  

It's been a week since she woke up and god knows how long since she had seen him. Natalia had been stiff lipped and utterly silent on the matter, even the loquacious Tony Stark wouldn't say a damn thing when he visited the once.  It was strange that the super spy had seemed to befriend Sasha and she hoped it was all for the good. She had a sneaky suspicion that Nat was helping her along, giving her clues to find Bucky. Even providing her with the means of escaping the dreaded room... Such a shame, that vase  _was_  pretty.

She smirked a little as she moved on wobbly legs towards the elevators. The nurses key - card clutched tightly in her hand. The hallway outside her room was blessedly empty but she knew there were eyes everywhere so she sped her step up a bit. Sasha thought back, knowing that he wasn't in one of these white walled rooms. No, the other woman had implied he had his own room. 

"We are staying just two floors above you, so don't be worried.  We'll keep you safe." She had said, her serious eyes never leaving Sasha's.  She'd read the message there. Today the wonderful spy had informed Sasha during the usual mid-day visit that her, Steve, and Stark would be out on a one day mission but would be back by midnight. That was her cue. 

So now, as Sasha waited impatiently inside the gaudy elevator, she began to wonder how Bucky was going to react. Would he want to see her? Would he even remember her? 

She was so nervous, her stomach was literally flipping. All of her choices, everything she had done for the man she was trying to seek had led to her very near death experience. She wondered if it was worth it. As the doors dinged open she had a moment’s hesitation. 

Of course it was.

Before she could brace herself, one foot out the door, the other in, she heard a quiet gasp. Looking up into the eyes of her would be killer, blue and beautiful and terrified.  Just like the beginning. 

"My Bucky." She whispered, so utterly relived he was here.  Not harmed and there was no blank stare that the Winter Soldier had. No, his eyes were an emotional whirlpool of confusion, joy, pain, and other feelings she didn’t even care to touch on.

He moved with blinding speed, throwing his wonderful arms around her body.  She was crying, she realized, as her hands roamed his body looking for damage. 

She kissed his cheeks tenderly, hoping that he'd raise his head from her shoulder. He kept it bent, and in this moment she couldn’t really fault him for trying to hide. God, she was so relieved.

"Are you OK? Are you safe here?" She mumbled, feeling the energy she had worked up start to drain, his arms strong and steady holding her up. At last he looked to her, his hands hovering over the flushed skin of her face. They shook slightly. A kind of nervousness she had yet to see from him before.

His face looked tortured, bags under his pained blue eyes, and an eerie hollowness to his cheeks. She felt the rage boil once more. Had they been starving him? Torturing him? 

"I'll kill them if they have hurt you, James I swear to-," but she was cut off by his strangled laugh. His dark brows were pinched in confusion but thankfully his large hands finally rested gently on her face. She leaned into the metal feeling a sense of heavenly comfort.

"My Sasha Hope. I killed you. I squeezed the life from you." He choked out, his face breaking. Holy shit, she had missed his voice, the quiet timbre that resonated inside her soul. 

"Not you. The soldier did.  But not my Bucky." She smiled, bringing her own hands up to hold his in place for she feared he was about to hightail it out of there. "Why didn't you come visit? No one would tell me anything about you!" She whispered fiercely, watching him tilt his head to examine her neck. The bruises were nearly gone. Just a yellow discoloration any indication that there was any damage there.

Finally his gaze found hers and she was struck by the guilt there. She'd spend her whole life to rid him of that look if she had too. 

"I didn't think..." He sighed heavily. Above them, a red light started flashing and the elevator door closed behind her with a quick thud making them jump.

"Miss Hope, the medical staff would like you to return to your room." The refined British voice announced overhead. She smiled devilishly, catching Bucky's confused eyes. 

"I escaped. Had to take down a male nurse and sneak up here." She couldn't help but feel a little satisfied in the way he smirked, eyes lighting up in shared mischief. He looked so different then. So much more. And then it hit her.

"Do you remember?!" She squeaked. He nodded, pulling her closer. She felt a craving begin to stir deep within her soul.

"Most things. Others are still coming in flashes but I remember enough." He explained, lifting one side of that perfect mouth and she could see it. The old charming Bucky right under the surface and she had to admit, she kind of liked it.

“Well, you know, Mr. Barnes. I am still mad at you.” She pouted recklessly, making sure he understood her exactly. And by the way his hands moved down to her lower back and gripped her bottom, she knew he did.

“Well, doll. Looks like I better make you forget why you are so mad.” He mumbled roughly into her ear, the heat of his breath and the lust that was dripping off his words flew straight to her core. She had been feeling a little drained of energy, but now? Oh boy, she had it in buckets.

"Hey Jarvis, with all due respect, you can tell the medical staff to fuck off."

"I'll be sure to impart the message, Mr. Barnes." The voice said properly, though Sasha had a wild feeling that there was humor underneath the response. 

She looked up, feeling the heat of his stunning gaze tear through her. She grinned saucily, deciding that the time for talk was not now. Probably not until morning and even then, well after breakfast. 

No, now was for passion and love and the scariest thing of all. Hope.


	28. The End (ish)

In all of her years, through all her battles, Sasha Hope had never thought she’d come to stand before men and women of amazing powers and skills and be able to call them friend.

But here she was, sitting on a large tattered mat deep inside the walls of Stark towers with the deadly Natalia Romanova. The two had just finished an intense round of one on one sparing and some extra practice with small handhelds. Neither woman wanted to admit defeat though they both knew the super spy could easily end the fight by snapping her neck.

Good thing they were friends and not enemies.

“Shit.” Sasha huffed, taking another long drink of water. “I gotta watch out for your head. I’m going to have a bruise on my hip for a week.” She grumbled, gently rubbing the sore spot.

The other woman smirked, though she had to wipe a small trickle of blood from the corner of her perfect lips. Sasha felt a little bit of satisfaction knowing she’d at least made her bleed and while most people would think that was one weird way for friends to think, most people didn’t have theirs training them in all things dangerous.

“Yea well, so long as Robocop doesn’t threaten me again.” Nat replied smoothly, lifting a heavy bottle to her lips while her eyes stayed glued to hers.

James had been... less than thrilled when she told him Nat was going to train her but he quickly succeeded when he realized she’d need the training in case Hydra showed its ugly head again.

“It'll be Boney you’d have to worry about.” A deep voice called from across the room.

On the outside James looked like a normal gym junkie; sweater, sweat pants, hair tied back and a pair of black leather grip gloves.

It all masked the brooding violence that he could be. Not that it was how he was now. Sasha knew him in an entirely unique way, keeping the softness and tenderness close to her heart. 

The others, they didn’t trust him. The Captain was still edgy around him, but she knew with time they would come to see him as she did.

“I like Mr. Boney.” Nat laughed, standing to help Sasha up. The two women dusted off and headed towards their lone audience.

“Only because he hit me so hard he nearly broke my jaw.” James grumbled, leather hand rubbing his still tender chin.

After not hearing from her in nearly two weeks, finding her apartment a disaster, and finding out Bucky had been wanted by every government agency in practically the world, Boney was none too happy. And Sasha didn’t have the courage to face him alone so of course she brought James along. Nat had volunteered as escort but she suspected Nat knew exactly how Boney was going to react.

It didn’t help that James, himself, refused to raise a hand in his defense. Sasha had to pry the old man off of him.

Somehow they ended up hugging. Her adopted father had tears running down his wrinkly, sun burnt face. Sasha had been told by some suits that she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about the events leading up to Bucky’s capture or after but, like most times in Sasha’s life, she refused to play by their rules. The beans had been spilled, if only to her father. 

She tried to skip over the part where the Soldier, as she liked to refer to it, had tried to kill her but James wouldn’t let her. Boney hadn’t been too happy to hear about her boyfriend’s true past but he was also a smart man with a dark past of his own. 

Boney had been surprisingly calm, brows scrunched, but patient. He turned to her after James had finished explaining, and asked if she thought she was in danger with him.

She had taken one look at James and declared with all the confidence in the world, “Absolutely not.”

And the rest… Well, that’s sort of a blur.

Over the course of a month, Boney had made himself a usual in the Avengers workout routine. After Nat let the higher-ups know that Boney was in on the Super Soldier info, they couldn’t just leave him be. So they kept an eye on him, letting him visit. He brought an old fashioned coaching skill that kept Bucky from accidentally tearing the equipment to pieces.

Sasha looked around at the people with whom she loved. It was the first time since Mark, that she felt as if she were apart of a family. People who, despite their backgrounds, she could trust.

She looked into the piercing blue eyes of her man and smiled. He could read her like an open book.

“I think it’s time to hit the showers.” Sasha sighed, mock-despondently.

Nat rolled her eyes, and started mumbling in Russian. Sasha had no idea what the other woman had said, but Bucky was laughing and she didn’t mind at all. In fact, she could really get used to that sound…


End file.
